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JESSE EDGERTON. 




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FKESKXTEI) l!Y 



"BROOK BY THE WAY" 




A VOLUME OF POEMS 

BY 

JESSE EDGERTON 



"I saw the mountains stand 
Silent, wonderful and grand, 
Looking^out; across the land, 
When the golden light was falling 

On distant dome and spire ; 
And I heard a low voice calling. 

Come up higher, come up higher. 
From the lowland and the mire. 
From the mist of earth desire. 
From the vain pursuit of pelf, 
From the attitude ;)f self; 
Come up higher, come up higher." 

Jas. G. Clarke 



DAMASCUS, OHIO, 1913 



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PREFATORY. 

I do not intend to offer an apology for writing this book, but 
rather to give a reason for doing so. In my earlier life, having 
written a number of verses, some of them comprised in this volume, 
and not being deeply impressed with their value, I vi'as on the point 
of destroying them, when the partiality of members of my family 
for some of these productions intervened, and saved them from the 
fate which, perhaps, they deserved. 

For years past, the writer has felt a care not to write anything, 
the tendency of which, might be to lead away from Friendliness. 

How far he has succeeded, we leave the reader to judge. A 
few of these poems were written in a vein of pleasantry, but none, 
I hope will hurt the tender feelings of any of my readers; while, 
on the other hand, many of them were written under a feeling of 
duty, and the author has had a humble belief, that inspiration w;is 
at times experienced, in this, as in other, and more distinctly 
religious service. 

Sorrow and aflBiction have been factors, under the Divine bless- 
ing, in the development of a deep hximan sympathy, toward the 
sick and sorrowing, and the writer has hoped that this feature in 
his verses may make them to many, as the title chosen for this 
little book suggests, ' ' A Brook by the Way. ' ' 

I should come far short of my duty, if I failed to give full 
credit to my dear family, and kind friends, whose encouragement 
and sympathy, were so freely and spontaneously given in the task 
of collecting and arranging these literary waifs for publication. 

Some of them have been written for private occasions, and could 
not be expected to awaken public interest; yet we have a hope 
that in the somewhat extended acquaintance of the author, there 
may be many who will find the perusal of this little volume to be 
worth while. 

To aJl such we commend the book, with the hope that through 
its influence, some weary, chastened souls may take fresh courage 
to press forward in the journey of life; and the feeling that per- 
haps the author had a duty in sharing these inspirations and aspira- 
tions with a larger circle of friends, winning for them a wider 
hearing, and increasing their possibilities of usefulness, has been 
an esj)ecial reason for placing thii^ book before the public. 

Jesse Edgerton. 

Damascus, Ohio, 1913. 



INTRODUCTORY. 

The writer has neither intention nor desire to seek notoriety 
or popularity through an autobiography; nevertheless, recognizing 
the fact that our iaterest in any book is enhanced by some knowl- 
edge of the author, either personal or written, it has appealed to 
me, to introduce myself very briefly to my readers, by a hasty 
sketch of my life and parentage. Then too, circumstances related 
herein may give reason for some of the poems, and render them 
more easily understood. 

My father, Joseph Edgerton, a well known minister in The 
Society of Friends, came with his parents, from North Carolina, in 
1804, and settled in Belmont County, Ohio, about five miles from 
where the Yearly Meeting house now stands, one mile east of 
Barnesville. 

In the year 1818 he was married to Charity Doudna, who with 
her parents, John and Miriam Doudna, had also removed to Belmont 
County from North Carolina. 

The youngest of fifteen children of this marriage, I was born 
near Barnesville, Ohio, Seventh Month 12, 1845. Born and reared 
amid Friendly surroundings, and blest with Godly and consistent 
parents, my life received a strong and enduring impulse toward 
Quakerism, for which, in more mature years, when tl^e religion of 
my childhood and environment, became the religion of my convic- 
tion and my choice, I have been devoutly thankful. 

My education consisted of several years' work m the Friends' 
primary school at "The Eidge," near Barnesville, supplemented by 
two winter terms at Mt. Pleasant Boarding School in the early 
sixties. 

The winter of 1864-5 saw my first eft'ort at school teaching, in 
the Friends' school at Flushing, Ohio, this being succeeded by a 
number of other schools in after years. The following spring, I 
went with my parents to Iowa, whither they were removing^ assisted 
them in getting fixed up in their new home, and in the autumn of 
1865 returned to Ohio and was married to Semira Stratton, daughter 



of Edward and Mary Stratton, of Columbiana County, where we 
made our home. 

Six children were born of this union, viz., Mary Anna, 
Edward J., J. Howard, Arthur H., Wilson and S. Ellen. Edward J. 
died at the age of ten weeks, the others living to maturity. 

In the autumn of 1877, we removed to Keokuk County, Iowa. 
Here, after more than a year of ill health, my dear wife died, on 
Ninth Month 11th, 1878. 

"In Memoriam" and several other poems in this volume were 
written following this bereavement. With my motherless family, 
I remained at Coal Creek that winter, teaching the Friends' school, 
and in the spring of 1879 returned to Ohio, finding homes for my 
children among Friends. On Third Month 29th, 1882, I was mar- 
ried to Susan Gilbert, daughter of Benjamin and Lydia Gilbert, of 
Westmoreland County, Pennsylvania, and we at once moved to 
Columbiana, Ohio, where for several years I was engaged in busi- 
ness. Here in 1884 was born our son, Walter Gilbert Edgerton, 
the only child of this marriage. 

Right here I want to say that I wish to bear testimony to her 
faithfulness as a wife to me and a mother to my children. 

These years of life with their cares and duties, trials and 
aflBictions, were preparing us, better, perhaps, than we knew, for 
the responsibilities which were coming to us in the service of the 
Church, 

In the spring of 1895, under a religious concern, with the 
hearty concurrence of my dear wife, also of a committee of our 
Yearly Meeting of Ministers and Elders, and with a minute of 
unity and concurrence from my Monthly Meeting, I accompanied 
Hannah H. Stratton and Lydia K. Lightfoot on a religious visit 
to Great Britain and Ireland. 

On this errand I was absent from home eighteen weeks, and 
traveled over 10,000 miles. Soon after my return from this visit 
I was recorded as a minister, since which time, with the concur- 
rence of my Friends, several visits have been made, both within 
and without the limits of my own Yearly Meeting. 

In the autumn of 1900 my wife and I were asked to assume 
the duties of Superintendent and Matron at Friends Boarding 
School at Barnesville, Ohio, on account of the resignation of 
William and Dorothy Ashton, and went thither in the Second 
Month, 1901. / 

Five years of arduous, yet interesting service followed, dur- 
ing which time my wife's health failed, and in the autumn of 1905 



we resigned our positions there, and were released in tbe following 
spring, thence removing to Damascus, where at our home on Foun- 
tain Farm, we again enjoyed the pleasure of home life. Here too, 
after many months of failing strength, both mental and physical, 
my dear companion died. Eighth Month 28th, 1908. 

This deep affliction occasioned the writing of several poems to 
be found in this volume, "Not Knowing," "At Rest," and others. 

Two years later, Eighth Month 24th, 1910, I was united in 
marriage to Elizabeth A. McGrew, a beloved elder, of Short Creek 
Monthly Meeting, living at Colerain, Ohio, and we at once settled 
in our new home, "The Maples," Damascus, Ohio. 

Here, convenient to Meeting, and the accommodations that a 
country village can afford, iu touch with the world by telephone 
and inter-urban trolley service, surrounded l)y kind and congenial 
friends and neighbors, and blest by the dearest of homes, and the 
sweetest of home ties, we desire to be sufficiently thankful to our 
kind Heavenly Father for the infinite love and mercy that have 
attended us all these years, and trusting that He will enable us 
to follow implicitly His spiritual guidance, and when the end shall 
come, that there may be for us 

"Some humble door among Thy many mansions. 

Some sheltering shade, where sin and striving cease. 

And flows forever, through Heaven's green expansions 
The river of Thy peace." 

Jesse Edgerton. 



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s, Ohio 



Oh lioiiie! most blessed spot on earth! 

Where constant love and kindness rei^ii 

Within the family domain; 
Where tlie staunch virtues have their l)irtli, 
Which make our manhood truly ijreat: 
The hope and honor of the state! 
What potent force is thine that turns 
The heart where'er we roam to thee ? 
Thy fireside altar ever burns, 

The pole star on our stormy sea. 
Thy sacred influence still must be 

The corner stone whereon are built 
The bulwarks of our liberty. 

See Snow Storm— Page 126 



FOREWORD. 



Go, little book, into the homes 

Where love and peace are dwelling, 

Their glad fruition, in the life 

To eoiiie, through faith foretelling. 

Go to the homes of those who dwell 

Beneath the clouds of sorrow, 
Touching the choi'ds that may awake 

Hope for a bi'ighter morro\v. 

Go where affliction's heavy hand 

On human hearts is falling. 
And where, from the deep gloom of deatli 

Are silenced voices calling. 

I, too, have traveled where it seemed 
That every liope must languish, 

And dipped the ink that traced ray \'erse, 
P'rom my own heart's deep anguisli. 

Bear to the mourning and bereaved. 

Some sympathetic token, 
From one whose soul's profoundest depths 

By grief have been upbroken. 

From one whose lips have drained the cup 
From Marah's bitter fountain, 

Yet glad to view the "Promised land" 
Of rest, from Nebo's mountain. 



And if the message proves a balm 
To soothe some wounded feeling, 

Or if it point some weary soul 
To the sure "Fount of healing", 

However rude my humble verse, 
In style howe'er deficient, 

The motive for this book is won. 
And my reward sufficient. 



A BROOK BY THE WAY. 



Oh, purling brook beside the way ! 
Whose sparkling waters dance and play 
Against its banks of grass and sedge 
Down sloping to the waters edge. 
What blessings from thy fountains lie 
Outspread beneath the summer sky! 

Rich offering from the silent hills. 
Whose benison the valley fills, 
Refreshing with thy liquid lips 
All nature's wild companionships. 
And bringing joy and happiness 
Thy wanton wanderings to bless. 

Brook by the way ! how slowly rise 
Thy mist clouds to the waiting skies ! 
Till, from God's storehouse, come again 
Blessings of world-reviving rain ; 
So nature 's plans unite today. 
And life goes singing on its way. 

10 



Oh, may our course, like thine abound 
With blessings to the world around ! 
Sweet ministries in quiet ways, 
And hidden channels through the maze 
Of earthly things, until our way 
Emerges into brighter day. 

A brighter day of happiness. 
Without the clouds of earth 's distress ; 
A day of soft unfading light. 
That knows no coming of the night ; 
Where the brook's counterpart shall be 
Eternity's unbounded sea. 

That crystal sea before the throne,* 
Whereon the Almighty Presence shone 
To him of Patmos, on whose eyes 
The glory of that glad surprise 
Burst Avith a splendor from above. 
The Christ's apocalypse of love! 



'See 4th Chapter of Kevelations. 



NATURE'S MUSIC. 

1860. 



There is music in the sere leaves 

That rustle in the breeze. 
There is music in the sighing wind 

That moans among the trees. 

There is music in the woodland 

Where budding flowefi-s are springing. 

Where tinted buds are opening. 
And merry birds are singing. 



There is music in the summer shower, 
That cheers the thirsty ground, 

There is music in the fragrant bower. 
With busy bees around. 



There is music in the solemn swell 

Of ocean's ceaseless roar, 
Where curling waves in angry chase 

Are breaking on the shore. 

There is music in the howling storms 

That through the forests crash, 
Where hills are rocked by the thunder's roar. 

Where the vivid lightnings flash. 

There is music in the waterfall, 

And in the whispering stream, 
Tliat dances down the sunny vale 

Like the rippling of a dream, 

Tliere is music breathing all around, 

O'er mountain, plain and sea, 
But sweeter still the loving words 

Of the friends so dear to me. 



DEATH OF DE SOTO. 

1860. 



Written at the age of fifteen years, and the first poem the 

author had publishod. 
Low murmured the wind through the wilderness 

wide, 
Where the broad Mississippi rolled on in its pride, 
While on its green banks, as the waves rolled away, 
The warriors of Spain watched the close of the day. 

12 



There the willow 's long branches were bathed in the 

flood, 
And there the live oak in magnificence stood, 
And through the thick foliage that waved in the 

wind. 
The Indian saw gleaming, the bright cross behind. 

Like the deer of the forest, the hunter before. 
The terrified savage fled fast from the shore. 
As the steel armored conquerors, onward they came. 
Leaving ruin behind them, from ball, steel, and flame. 

But their stately commander leaned sadly apart. 
With gloom on his brow, and despair in his heart ; 
For far from the land of the cedar and vine. 
He had long sought in vain for the wealth of the 
mine. 

But now the bright glare of his banner was dim. 
And the trumpet 's shrill notes had no music for him, 
For despair on his forehead had sealed her sad token. 
And the tones of the soldier, betrayed him heart- 
broken. 

Lament. 

"The sunset's golden dyes are painting now 
The hills and valleys of this western land, 
While I, through summer's heat and weariness. 
Have led for wealth, my small, but gallant band. 

"Is it for this, through western lands to roam, 
Vainly in search of treasures of the mine? 
Is it for this I left my smiling home 

Beneath the snowy summits of the Appenine? 



'Is it for this I braved the ocean storm? 

Is it for this I crossed the angry deep? 
To lay amid these wilds my weary form. 

Far from the land where my forefathers sleep? 

'Here, where around my grave throughout the night 
The hungry wolf in lonely watch shall prowl, 

Or ghastly glow of ignis-fatuus light. 

Rouse from his midnight rest the hooting owl. 

'Even now, me-thinks, the panther's scream I hear, 
The wild bear's hoarser growl to it replying; 

The startled night bird spreads its wings in fear 
And swiftly through the wild-wood waste is 
flying. 

'Oh! I have watched in youth, when but a boy, 
The ships careering o'er the boundless main. 

And saw. Oh, how it thrilled my heart with joy ! 
The bright cross blazing on the flag of Spain. 

'I longed to bear that flag to distant lands, 
To see it planted on some unknown shore, 

Where wild and free, roamed Indian robber bands, 
Who ne'er saw banner on their soil before. 

'But now ambition swells my heart no more. 
No more my eager spirit thirsts for gain. 
All, all I ask is but to see that shore. 

The vine-clad hills and vales of sunny Spain. 

' Alas, that land I never more shall see ! 

Ne'er see again my own, my native home! 
Nor gaze on southern heavens so deeply blue, 

Beneath whose smile in youth I loved to roam. 

14 



■ Ah, no ! my race is now already run, 

Death sets his pallid seal upon my brow. 
Farewell, my comrades! life's long waning sun 
Sets in the darkness of oblivion now." 



He ceased, for life's spark from his bosom had fled, 
And the soldier's proud form now lay pulseless and 

dead, 
With his head on his shield, and his hand on his 

sword. 
And Spain's banner around him, which once he 

adored. 

By the ' ' Father of Waters ' ' they made his lone grave, 
Where the green leaf is wet by the dash of his wave, 
And at midnight's still hour, in the silence and 

gloom, 
He was borne to the rest of his wilderness tomb. 

No mortal said mass for the soul of the dead, 

No priest offered prayer, and no service was read; 

But his dirge through the forest the wild breezes 

rung, 
And the broad Mississippi his funeral chant sung. 



15 



OUR FATHER'S DEATH. 

1866. 



'Twas autumn; summer's golden reign 
Had ceased, and o 'er the hills and vStreams, 

Over the woodland and the plain 
The yellow autumn sunshine gleams. 

The forest boughs, which through the long 
Bright days of summer gently swayed 

To every breeze that passed along, 
Were tinged with autumn's golden shade. 

The songs of the departing birds 
Were growing fainter day by day, 

And borne upon tlie breeze was heard, 
Slowly and sad, their plaintive lay. 

Some had already plumed their wings. 
For southern Hight to sunnier skies, 

'Mid far palmetto groves to sing 
Where summer verdure never dies. 

A few remained, as loath to part 

With all they loved upon the plains ; 

Sometimes they sang, but on the heart 
Their music fell in mournful strains. 

But sadder far than all of these, 
Than songs of the departing birds 

Than the wind's music through the trees, 
Fell on our ears his parting words. 

16 



Sudden and fierce had been the course 

Of fell disease upon his frame, 
But yet he shrank not, all its force 

Shook not his faith in Jesus' name. 

Sadly around his bedside came, 
Gathering again the stricken few, 

Sorrow was weighing down each frame, 
To bid our sire a last adieu. 

Fervent and strong his prayers arose 
To God from that low bed of death ! 

He prayed for us, the Church, and those 
Who wandered from the narrow path. 

Prayed that the power that shielded him 
Might for his children's strength be given, 

That Truth's pure light might not grow dim 
But guide us to a home in Heaven. 

How sad, and yet how sweet to see 
The spirit take its upward flight ! 

To know the prisoned soul set free. 
To bathe in Heaven's eternal light. 

Ah ! yes, 'twas hard to give him up, 
To yield him to the silent grave, 

But yet, 'tis ours to drink the cup 

And bless the Almighty hand that gave. 

Oh ! may that hand be underneath, 
His grace complete the work begun. 

Enable us in truth to breathe 

From contrite hearts, "Thy will be done". 

17 



But Oh, we '11 miss him ! Sad and lone 
Must gather now that household hand 

In sorrow by the lone hearthstone 
In that far-off and western land. 

Winter's bleak winds are blowing now 
Around that lonely prairie home ! 

Their icy breath upon his brow, 
Never, aye, never more, may come. 

Above his grave they still will sweep, 
And sound a requiem o'er his tomb, 

Pile high the snow in many a heap 
Fantastic, 'round his narrow home. 

Was it unmeet that he should die 
Thus in the autumn of the year? 

That his pure soul should soar on high 
Ere yet decrepit age drew near? 

As like the summer birds which fled, 
Ere winter came to sunnier lands. 

Our sire in death lay down his head, 
But risen again, in glory stands! 

Farewell, beloved father ! may 
Thy bright example guide us on, 

To serve Jehovah in our day, 

And gain the crown that thou hast won. 

Oh, may thy precepts still survive ! 

Deep in our hearts forever lie ! 
That they may teach us how to live, 

That they may fit us soon to die. 

18 



Farewell! when winter's storms are o'er, 
When springtime comes to earth again, 

Its robe of living green once more 

Will clothe in beauty the broad plain! 

And summer's gentle breath will wave 
The tall rank grass above thy tomb ! 

And prairie flowers around thy grav^ 
In the bright sunshine gaily bloom. 

But when the autumn comes again, 
And the mild south winds cease to blow, 

When the corn harvest gilds the plain. 
Will we, can we forget thee? no! 

We will remember, then as now. 

The virtuous life that crowned thy days, 

And may the Almighty teach us how 
To live to His and to thy praise. 



19 



THE BABY'S GRAVE. 

1868. 



There is a little mound of clay- 
Heaped in the edge of yonder grove, 

And underneath is laid away 
A little form we dearly love. 

That little grave is covered now 
With a pure robe of spotless white, 

And over it the wild winds blow, 
And sing his dirge by day and night. 

Today, as standing by the spot, 

I bent above his silent clay. 
Thinking upon our lonely home. 

And of the spirit passed away, 

Me-thought that I could see, sweet child ! 

In the white mantle spread around. 
An emblem of thy purity. 

And of thy angel robes and crown. 

'Twas hard to give thee up, dear one ! 

So very sweet, so young and fair ! 
To yield thee as a precious lamb 

E'en to the tender Shepherd's care! 

Ah yes ! 'twas hard to give thee up ! 

To close those soft blue eyes in death ! 
To feel no more on lip and cheek, 

The playing of thy gentle breath ! 

20 



To fold tiiose little hands that scarce 
Had learned to mind the infant will, 

To miss the smile which e'en in death 
Upon his features lingered still. 

We mourn, but not for thee, dear one! 

But for ourselves the tears will flow, 
Thy barque is anchored safe above. 

While we must stand life's storms below. 



'Tis true our home is sad and lone, 
The cradle still is standing by. 

But baby's voice no more is lieard, 
Nor mother's gentle lullaby. 

T]iy clothing gently laid away! 

Un-needed by thy little form! 
Far sweeter songs than ours are heard, 

And whiter garments thou hast on! 

We mourn, but Oh ! we cannot wish 
To call thee back to earth again ! 

To ])uft'et with the storms of time, 
And bear a share of sin and pain. 

Oh happy spirit! safe at last, 

Within the Shepherd's fold above! 

Our little lamb within His arms, 
Is basking in eternal love! 

Oh, may 'st thou watch in tender love. 
Over thy erring parents ' way ! 

And may thy memory still remain. 
Reminding when we go astray ! 

That we may run our destined race, 
Fulfill our Heaven-Allotted task. 

May stand before our Savior's face, 
And meet thee, darling one, at last ! 



NEAR THE DEAD. 

1870. 



"A mound is in the graveyard, 

A low and narrow bed, 

No grass is growing on it. 

And no marble at its head. 
Ye may go and weep beside it, 

Ye may kneel and kiss the sod, 
But you'll find no balm for sorrow 
In the cold and silent clod." 

Emily C. Judson. 

Near the dead ! I sought the graveyard, 
AVhere the mouldering body lies. 

Of a loved one, now departed 
To her home within the skies. 



Standing by her grave in sorrow, 
Vainly strove ray heart to feel 

E'en a passing, slight assurance 
Of her presence, o'er me steal. 

True indeed, the form and features. 
E'en in death, to us so fair, 

Cold and silent lay beneath me, 
But the spirit was not there. 

Still I stand within the chamber 
Where that dying mother lay, 

When her pure and ransomed spirit 
Left its tenement of clay. 

Sadly do its scenes remind me 
Of the dear one gone before. 

But no feeling of her presence 
Greets me from the other shore. 



22 



Vainly do I seek to know it, 

In the old familiar room, • 
'Mongst the friends she loved so fondly. 

Or beside the silent tomb. 

But when favored by the Master, 

In his mercy ever fresh, 
To pour out my soul before Him 

In tlie "silence of all flesh". 

When the peace He only giveth 
Steals in quiet o'er my breast. 

Then her spirit comes before me 
In its shining livery drest. 



And I feel that she is happy. 
All her toils and trials o'er. 

Safely housed from every trouble 
On that bright and shining shore. 



"ALL IS PEACE. 

1870. 



Laat words of my mother-in-law, Mary Stratton. 

' ' All is peace ! ' ' Oh, happy feeling !, 
When the toils of life are o'er, 
And the soul is waiting, longing, 
But to reach the other shore. 

"All is peace!" what simple, childlike 
Trust in Him, whose powerful arm 
Still is round about the righteous, 
To preserve from every harm. 

23 



"All is peace!" and yet the valley, 
Dark and dreadful, looms before, 
And the swelling waves of Jordan 
Must perforce be traveled o'er. 

"All is peace!" the waiting spirit 
Feels the Savior by her side. 
And His arms of love enfold her. 
He will bear her o 'er the tide. 

Bear her safely to the fountains 
Whence the living waters flow, 

Cause to rest upon the mountains 
Where the trees of healing grow. 

Clothe in robes of dazzling whiteness, 
Place a harp within her hand, 

And before His throne of glory 
With the host angelic stand. 

Joins her voice in matchless music, 
With the songs that angels raise. 
Tuning on their golden harp-strings. 
Sweet hosannas to His praise. 



24 



RECOGNITION IN HEAVEN. 
1870. 



Shall we see each-other's faces 

When before the Throne we stand? 
If through Christ's redeeming mercy 

We may reach that ' ' Better land ' ' ; 
Where the crystal streams are tiowing 

From their fountain clear and calm, 
And the tree of life is growing 

For the nation's healing balm! 

Shall we, in those realms of beauty, 

Know our loved ones gone before? 
Who through grief, and tears, and suffering, 

Reached at last that happy shore? 
Sliall we know and fondly greet them, — 

Weary from the toil and strife 
Of our tiresome pilgrim journey. 

Through the stormy paths of life ? 

Shall I know my precious father? 

He who watched my youthful years, 
Sowing seeds within my hard heart, 

Tending, with his prayers and tears. 
Sterile soil; yet, at the harvest. 

How his heart would leap for joy, 
If among the sheaves incoming. 

He should find his wayward boy! 

May the Lord reward his labors, 

Prophets in his stead upraise, 
That his bread be from the waters, 

Gathered after many days. 
May the banner that he carried 

For the Truth be kept bn high ! 
That the cause, although it languish, 

May not wholly droop and die. 

25 



Shall I know my angel mother 

In that bright and happy throng? 
With a golden crown upon her, 

On her lips eternal song? — 
Oh ! the loved ones who have left us, 

Taken in their being's prime! 
Shall we know, and fondly greet them 

In that happy, heavenly clime? 

One, I know full well, awaits us. 

Beckons from the other side. 
For I feel his precious influence 

O'er the dark mysterious tide! 
Short the space of time that blest us. 

With the cherub's sweet sojourn ! 
Scarce three moons had come and left us, 

Ere the spirit's swift return. 

Still another link is added 

To the chain that binds above 
And another earth-cord loosened 

In the Savior's tender love! 
]\Iay we then go pressing forward. 

With our eyes upon that shore, 
Where beside the "Silent Waters" 

We may meet to part no more. 



GIVING BACK. 

1870. 



Written on the death of a child of Wm. H. and 
Sarah H. Blackburn. 

"It must be sweet in child-hood to give back 
The spirit to its Maker; ere the heart 
Has grown familiar with the paths of sin, 
And sown to garner up its bitter fruit". 

L. H. Sigourney. 

'Tis sweet to give back in the morning of life, 
The soul to its Maker, the clay to its clay, 

Ere the pain and the sorrow, the anguish and strife 
Of the world shall arise to becloud its bright day. 

While the soul is pure as the dew on the mountain, 
Unsullied by guilt, and untarnished hy sin, 

The gateway that leads to the tree and the fountain 
Of life was thrown open, the spirit passed in. 

Yes, tliere where no tempest or storm can assail her, 
She dwells in the glory of Heaven's endless day! 

Oh ! why should the loved ones who linger, bewail 
her? 
Or mourn for the spirit to bliss called away? 

But yet ye may weep, for no trial is deeper, 

And tears for the loved ones upwelling will come, 

Like those that were strewn at the grave of the 
sleeper, 
When Jesus Himself wept at Lazarus' tomb. 

But weep with rejoicing, that one who around her 
Was shedding a halo of I'ove all her own, 

Has thrown off the shackles of being that bound her, 
And stands with the host at the foot of the Throne. 

27 



IN RESIGNATION. 

1871. 



A metrical rendering of an anecdote published in a periodical. 

Oh ! when the friends we love the best. 

Are halting at the River's side, 
Ere quitting yet the bounds of life, 

To launch upon the swelling tide. 
'Tis sweet in this dark hour to feel 

The Christian's hope sustaining still, 
And in the inmosit soul to know 

Submission to the Almighty's will. 

But Oh, how weak the human heart ! 

How destitute of power or might 
To lift the dark but kindly veil, 

That liides the future from our sight ; 
How weak to murmur e'en in thought, 

If not in open deed and word, 
Against these dispensations fraught 

With tender mercy from the Lord. 

But Oh! a mother's nameless love! 

In that dark hour of deepest gloom ! 
Remembering not to look above, 

Beyond the confines of the tomb. 
Had centred all upon that form 

Of childish innocence and grace, 
Whose pallid brow and palsied arm 

Too plainly told of death's embrace. 

An only child ! — united by 

The holiest of earthly ties, 
Rarest of beauty seemed to lie 

On the white brow and dimming eyes ; 
So young — and must a mother's joy 

So soon in broken fragments lie? 
"Oh, no," I cried, "it cannot be. 

My darling cannot, must not die!" 



While overwhelmed with boundless grief, 

A vision passed before my eyes; 
I saw my darling boy revive, 

And from the bed of death arise : 
While swiftly passed the flying years, 

And soon to manhood's age he came, 
But vice and guilt had stained his soul, 

And joined his hands to deeds of shame ! 



•I 



In vain a father's kind reproof 

In vain a mother's prayers and tears 
Farther he trod the path of sin. 

As swiftly passed the circling years! 
His lips had pressed the wine cup's brim, 

Drained to its dregs the fiery flood, 
To deeds of death it maddened him. 

And stained his hands with human blood ! 

Oh, who can tell what agony 

Must fill a mother's aching breast! 
To see upon the gallows stand 

A son in convict's mantle drest; 
The fatal halter and the shroud! 

The arms for hopeless mercy tost! 
The cry that pierced my bursting heart, 

As of a soul forever lost ! — 

The vision passed ! the spell Avas broke. 

And there the little infant lay ! 
A smile of angel sweetness spread 

In beauty o 'er the lifeless clay ! — 
From a full heart, on bended knees 

Thanks to the God 6i Hosts were given. 
That the pure lamb was safe at rest 

Within the pearly gates of Heaven. 



THE FOURTH ANNIVERSARY. 

1871. 



Four years ago this very night, 

In the darkness still and deep, 
Our frail and beautiful Eddie fell 

In the arms of death asleep. 
And no one knew of the coming 

Of the messenger pale and cold, 
Or waked, as he wreathed his icy hand 

In the baby's curls of gold. 

And no one knew when the measure 

Of his transient life was filled, 
And no one knew when the beating 

Of his throbbing pulse was stilled ; 
No one knew when the boatman 

Over the river had come, 
No one knew when the angels 

Welcomed the spirit home I 

How vividly rise before me 

Tlie thoughts of that lonely night, 
When the soul of the innocent sleeper 

Was freed for its upward flight ; 
For, asleep in his childish beauty, 

We gently had laid him down. 
Nor dreamed of the waiting angels. 

And the golden harp and crown. 

As sparks from the fire fly upward, 

So the disembodied soul, 
That never had known the touch of sin, 

AVas borne to its joyful goal ; 
And there in that clime of beauty, 

Those realms so far away. 
He dwells in the fadeless glory 

Of Heaven's eternal day. 



30 



AMBROSE BOONE. 

1871. 



Ambrose Boone, a minister, from Canada, died suddenly 
at the home of Eobert Ellyson, at Middleton, Ohio, Twelfth 
Month 7th, 1871, while on a religious visit to the meetings of 
Ohio Yearly Meeting. His remains were conveyed to his 
home in Ontario, Canada. 



Fold his hands upon his bosom ! 

Gently lay the stranger down; 
For the toils of life are ended, 

He has won a Heavenly crown ! 
Stranger friends had gathered round him, 

AVatching o'er his couch of pain, 
As the slender ties that bound him 

To the world were cut in twain. 



Far from home and all its pleasures, 

From the home he loved so well, 
Earnest in his Christian mission. 

In a foreign land he fell. 
Fell as came the solemn message 

That his work on earth was done, 
Foremost in the path of duty, 

Falling with his armor on. 



From beyond the ceaseless surging 

Of Ontai-io's restless wave. 
Came he in the Master's service, 

With the message that He gave : 
Yet before the task w,as finislied, 

In His boundless love, the Lord 
Called him, may we hope in mercy, 

Home to reap a rich reward. 



31 



In that land of fadeless beauty, 

Where the ransomed spirits dwell, 
Where the glory far surpasses 

All that mortal tongue can tell. 
Now released from pain and sorrow, 

Freed from every doubt and care. 
He, we humbly trust, is mingling 

With the Church Triumphant there. 



CHRIST'S KINGDOM. 

1871. 



Isaiah 35. 



The solitary place shall smile, 

The wilderness be glad. 
The arid desert's burning waste. 

In verdant robes be clad. 
And lovely flowers upspringing there 

Shall glow in fadeless bloom, 
To charm the eye and load the air 

With beauty and perfume. 

The glory of the lofty hills 

Of Lebanon shall lie, 
With Carmel's wealth of beauty there. 

To greet the ravished eye ; 
With all that Sharon's dewy fields 

Of excellence afford, 
And overspreading all shall dwell 

The glory of the Lord. 

32 



Then shall the blind eyes open wide, 

Then shall the deaf one hear, 
And music burst from unsealed lips 

In cadence wild and clear. 
Then shall the lame man walk and leap. 

As the hart upon the hill, 
Exultant in his new born strength, 

His joyous pulses thrill. 

And there a highway shall be made, 

"A way of holiness'', 
AVhich naught unclean may travel in, 

Nor feet of sinners press. 
No lion shall go up thereon, 

Nor any beast of prey. 
But there the feet of the redeemed 

Shall tread its shining way. 

And there the ransomed of the Lord 

Will Zion's courts surround, 
With songs of angel sweetness, 

With joy and gladness crowned; 
For there shall be no sorrow more, 

No sickness, no decay, 
For grief shall all be turned to joy. 

And sighing flee away. 



AN INTERCESSION. 

1871. 



'Oh! when the heart is full, when bitter thoughts 
Come crowding quickly up for utterance, 
And the poor common words of courtesy 
Are such a very mockery, how much 
The bursting heart may pour itself in prayer." 

— N. P. Willis. 

God of Jeshurun ! Thou who holds 

In Thy almighty hand, 
The waters of the mighty deep, 

That wash the ocean strand; 
Thou in whose balance are the hills 

And giant mountains weighed, 
By whose eternal arm of power 

The universe was made ! 

Oh, Holy Father, wilt thou turn 

Thy prayer-regarding ear, 
And in Thy boundless wealth of love, 

Our supplications hear? 
Bestow Thy all-sufficient grace. 

Point out life's winding way, 
Subdue our hard rebellious hearts ! 

Teach us to watch and pray ! 

And Oh, be with our sisters! 

The dear ones who today, 
Upon love's hallowed altar 

Gave their fond hearts away ! 
Keep them, Oh Holy Father, 

In Thy unslumb'ring sight. 
And grant Thy saving knowledge, 

To guide their steps aright! 
34 



And Oh ! if they grow weary, 

In bearing life's great load, 
If thorns and briers wound their feet 

Upon its rugged road, 
Oh Father, be Thou near them 

In every trying hour! 
Console them with Thy presence, 

Sustain them by Thy power! 

Correct their wayward wanderings, 

From bonds of sin set free ! 
And draw them with Thy cords of loA^e 

Nearer to Heaven and Thee ! 
And with religion's armor 

On-girded for the strife. 
Armed with the sword of prayer to fight 

In the battle field of life ! 

And grant that when the battle 

Is over, they may stand 
Prepared to strike their tents and cross 

Into the "Promised Land"; 
AVhere joys await the righteous, 

That mortals cannot know. 
Where trees of healing flourish 

And living waters flow. 



35 



NUPTIAL GREETING. 

1871. 



While pleasures surround you, 
Since Hymen has bound you, 
And friends gather round you, 

To share in your joy ! 
Your thoughts may you set not 
Too much on your new lot, 
Oh ! may you forget not 

Earth 's bliss has alloy ! 

I\[ay all men befriend you. 
Rich blessings attend you, 
And Heaven defend you 

In the journey of life ! 
Each acting his own part 
Of life with a whole heart ! 
Of love each a counterpart, 

Husband and wife ! 

And brothers, we meet you. 
As brothers we greet you, 
And hope to entreat you. 

As brothers our own ! 
On the same journey bound. 
With the same world around. 
And the same battle-ground 

To be lost or be won! 

May the vows you have taken, 
For aye be unshaken. 
And their memory awaken 

In thankful review, 
God's strength in defending. 
His love never ending. 
Rich blessings attending 

Life's whole journey through ! 



36 



OLD LETTERS. 

1871. 



Oh ! what a throng of memories 

Arise in looking o'er 
This pile of olden letters,. 

Strewn on the chamber floor; 
Received in days departed, 

From friends we loved so well, 
Speaking in silent pathos, 

Their kind regard to tell ! 



Plere's a heap of childhood's letters. 

Where the ink in copious flow, 
Tells upon the blotted pages. 

Thoughts and scenes of long ago; 
Scenes which wake the inmost feelings, 

And suffuse the eye with tears, 
Scenes which memory loves to cherish 

Fondly through the passing years. 



Here is one, a little missive 

Penned with neatness, and with care, 
From a gentle friend of boyhood. 

Lofty brow, and dark brown hair ; 
Only one short day my junior, 

Made a friend so long ago ; 
]\Iay her mind retain its beauty 

As the seasons come and go. 

37 



Here's another which we nearly 

In our haste had overpast, 
Weak and trembling is the sentence 

"In the hospital at last". 
From a brother in the army, 

"Slightly wounded, that is all". 
With a hand forever crippled, 

Shattered by a musket ball ! 

This is from the boundless prairies 

Of what then was "Sunset land"; 
Prom beyond the Mississippi, 

Written by a father's hand. 
Years have passed since death released him, 

Since the goal of life he won, 
In the foremost ranks of duty, 

Falling Avith his armor on. 

What a heap of dainty letters, 

Lying bound with ribbon there ! 
What but dainty love-effusions ! 

Cherished with the greatest care. 
Brightly in the retrospective 

Do life's golden moments lie. 
And their dreams of love have glided 

Into sweet reality. 

Oh what changes have o'ertaken 

Those whose names are written here ! 
Some are dead, and some are living. 

Some afar, and others near; 
These and other recollections 

Sad and joyous, come and go. 
As we scan these folded pages, 

Written, read, so long ago. 

38 



FOUR PAIRS OF SHOES. 

187]. 



How many pairs of little shoes? 

One, two, and three, and four, 
Placed with the heels against the wall, 

In a line upon the floor. 
Eight little feet to fill them, 

Are snugly tucked in bed. 
Nor hall nor parlor echo 

To the children's well known tread. 

Six little feet are weary, 

Weary of work and play, 
Trudging on in these little shoes 

The whole of this autumn day. 
And two, perchance are as tired 

As any of them may be. 
Though their only field of toil now, 

Is to stand on Mamma's knee. 



Eight little feet, unsteady, 

To . guide o 'er the slippery way ! 
Eight little busy, wayward feet, 

That often will go astray ! 
Eight little eyes upon us, 

Watching, wherever we go ! 
Eight little ears to try our words. 

And the source from whence they flow 

Four little lambs for the Heavenly fold, 

For the world beyond the grave ! 
Each for a life of weal or woe, 

Each with a soul to save! 
May God endue with wisdom, 

And aid us by His' might. 
In the path of life before us, 

To guide their steps aright ! 

39 



WORDS OF WELCOME. 

1871. 



To Edward and Mary H. Stratton, on their marriage, 
Twelfth Month 27th, 1871. 

While our loving friends and kindred 

Kindly gather round us here, 
We would fain a hearty greeting, 

Gently whisper in thy earl 
Greet thee with a nobler title, 

Than is won by wealth or fame, 
Bid thee thrice a hearty welcome 

In a mother's cherished name! 

Coming from a home and fireside, 

Guarded by parental love, 
To an untried field of labor, 

All its joy and toil to prove ; 
To the land of thy adoption, 

To our pleasant "Household tree", 
To our hearts and to our hearth-stones. 

Gladly do we welcome thee ! 

May thy hands be daily strengthened 

For the work thou hast to do, 
Walking in the path of duty, 

With the end of life in view! 
May thy heart receive fresh courage, 

For the task that lies before. 
Strength for every time of weakness, 

Till the toils of life are o'er. 

.. Father, Mother, as you travel, 

Hand in hand the rugged road, 
Be it ours to cheer you onward, 

Help you bear the weary load ; 
And with you pursue our journey. 

Bound in ties of mutual love, 
Side by side go pressing forward 

To the "Better World" above. 

40 



AN ASPIRATION. 

12th/31st/1871. 



How swiftly Time flies in his onward career ! 
Filling so shortly the course of the year ! 
Leading us gently, hut speedily on 
Toward the evening of life, from the break of its 

dawn! 
May God, in His mercy, look down from above. 
And grant us this boon in His infinite love. 
That we may press on through the darkness and 

gloom 
That shroudeth our path to the door of the tomb, 
With our hearts turned above, to the moutains that 

lie 
In evergreen beauty and splendor on high ! 



THE DECADE. 

1875. 



Ten years ago today. Love ! 

They called us "husband, wife"! 
And together we've turned the pages 

Of the book of human life. 



Together have shared the joys. 
That over our way Were shed. 

Together have wept o'er blasted hopes, 
Together have mourned the dead. 



Together have borne the burdens 

So hard to bear alone, 
Whereby the golden chain of love 

Has brighter, stronger grown. 

But anon, the time will come. Love ! 

When life to death must yield. 
When the reaper thrusts his sickle 

In the world's great harvest field. 

When on our failing vision 

Comes the gleam of snowy sail. 

And we cross the silent river. 
With the boatman cold and pale ! 



There with joy beyond conception, 
With a purer, holier love, 

May we live the life eternal, 
In the Father's house above! 



GONE HOME. 

1874. 



Lines written on the death of Aunt Mary S. Barber, who 
died Tenth Month 27th, 1874, in her 70th year. 

And she has gone ! gone in the quiet season 

W^hen the leaves fall, and when the ripened grain 

Fills up the garners, and the lovely haze 

Of Indian Summer spreads o'er wood and plain. 



Gone ere the chilling blasts of coming winter 
O'er the bleak hills and naked forests blow 

Gone to that land of everlasting springtime. 
Of light and beauty, unconceived below. 

42 • 



Gone to that rest, where sickness cannot seize her, 
Where pain and grief distress the soul no more ; 

But fadeless youth, and purest life and beauty 
Combine in glory on that radiant shore. 

Oh, happy change ! no cause, methinks, for weeping, 
But rather for rejoicing, that the spirit. 

So deeply tried, its rich reward is reaping 

In the bright mansions which the blest inherit. 

There, safe we trust, from all the storms and trials. 
Which, erst beset the path her feet have trod ; 

Her soul redeemed from all her tribulations, 
Rejoices in the glorious smile of God. 

Perhaps the crown, which at the end awaits us. 
Is brighter for the trials which we meet, 

If only borne in patience ; more refreshing 
The perfect rest unto the weary feet. 

Brighter by contrast, will be Zion's glory, 

Her streets of gold, her walls of precious stone. 

Purer the joy of the Eternal City, 

Sweeter the music round the great white Throne ! 

Let us press forward, then, the ties that bind us 
To earth, as years go by, are breaking fast. 

But on the "Shining Shore", beyond the river, 
The blessed ties of love forever last. 

Let us look upward, and in every trial. 
Anchor our hope and trust, alone in God, 

Walking in simple faith and self-denial, 
The narrow pathway the Redeemer trod. 

Bearing His cross, relying on His promise. 
Never to leave, nor to forsake His own. 

Trusting to meet the dear ones taken from us. 

In that bright world where parting is unknown. 

43 



OUR DUAL LIVES. 

1875. 



There are beautiful songs that we never sing, 
There are strains of music that die unheard, 

That flash in the heart like the shining wing, 
Or the thrilling notes of a timid bird. 

There are gems of thought that we safely keep 
Enshrined in our hearts, till their lustre gleams 

Around our lives, like the silver sweep 
Of angel robes through our happy dreams. 

There are glowing words that we do not speak, 
Freighted and filled with the soul's desire, 

And the hues that burn on the blushing cheek 
Alone may tell of their hidden fire. 

Tliere are clouds of sadness that none may know, 
Saving tlie heart where the shadows fall ; 

There are waves of sorrow that overflow, 
Sometimes in secret, the hearts of all. 

And away from the gaze of our fellow man, 
Are cherished hopes that we all conceal; 

Beautiful visions our eyes may scan, 
But visions our lips may never reveal. 

And deep in the heart where their fountains rise, 
Where the hidden springs of love have birth, 

We keep close-veiled from human eyes, 
The sweetest and richest boon of earth. 

Thus we are living our dual lives, — 

One that is outward and visible, 
One in the heart's deep shrine survives, 

Strong, abiding, and hid from all. 

44 



"THE CITY OF THE LIVING.' 

1875. 



Suggested by reading a poem with the same title, anony- 
mously published in the New York Observer. 

I read the story of that wondrous city 

Within whose portals wide, 
Disease, and pain, and sorrow might not enter, 

"And never any died." 



AVhere friendship's ties for aye remained unbroken, 

While years on years passed by; 
Nor hearts were there with bitter anguish broken. 

Nor dim and tearful eye. 



But working, willing, living on forever. 

Striving for "Power and pride". 
Fearless that death would cross their threshold ever, 

Though "Graves grew green outside". 

Yet strangely did its dwellers, of their pleasure, 

Grow weary, one by one. 
Their souls unsatisfied with all the treasure 

That their long lives had won. / 

But no ! not strange, for joy is born of sorrow, 
From weakness, strength shall spring. 

The night begets the radiant tomorrow. 
And winter the bright spring. 



Sweeter the sunshine when the storm is ended. 

Purer the mountain air,* 
And smiles and tears, on earth so strangely blended 

Make beauty's cheek more fair. 

45 



In the economy of life and being, 

Bitter and sweet unite, 
And pain may aid our faithless eyes, to seeing 

In pleasure, new delight. 

And when life 's brief and fitful dream is over, 

And the bright shore in view, 
And gleams of light, beyond the mystic river. 

The pearly gates shine through. 

When pilgrims here, from every clime shall meet. 

The cross of life laid down. 
Sweeter will be the rest for weary feet. 

Brighter the golden crown. 

Ah, in THAT beauteous "City of the living". 

No weariness will grow ! 
But joy more pure than that of earthly giving. 

From founts eternal flow. 



CONSOLATION. 



There is a pleasure which the world 
With all its wealth may not command 

A joy beyond our human grasp, 
Bestowed by the All-Father's hand. 



With all unholy passions stilled, 
A heart at peace with all mankind, 

The soul with quiet rapture filled, 
Enjoys a "Sabbath of the mind". 



Through love Divine, our human hearts 
This boon of joy and peace may gain, 

The while the weary body lies 
Prostrate upon its couch of pain. 

Where wasting sickness day by day 
Weakens the ties that bind us here, 

Till glancing o'er the upward way, 
The joys of heaven seem drawing near; 

As gently through the evening shades, 
The hues of sunset softly play. 

And sweetly blending with the gloom, 
A promise of the coming day ; 



So sometimes on the trusting heart, 
The dews of heavenly love distill, 

And visions of the higher life. 

With holy thoughts our bosoms fill: 

And faith, that when the doubts and fears, 
That haunt humanity are past. 

And pilgrims from this "Vale of Tears", 
Lay down their weary loads at last, 

There, in the better world above. 
Beyond the pearly gates of bliss, 

W^e happily, on that bright shore. 

May meet the friends we loved in this. 

The above poem was Written for Aunt Abby 
Allen, when in her last sickness ; a most innocent 
and patient sufferer. 

47 



HEREAFTER. 

1876. 



"What I do thou knowest not now, but thou ehalt know 
hereafter." John, XIII., 7. 

Christian, when the storm clouds gather, 

Dark and wild upon thy way, 
And thy faithless heart is longing 

For the glorious light of day; 
Though thou canst not pierce the shadows 

That around thy pathway lie, 
If in faith thou journey forward. 

They will vanish by and by. 

Though the bitter cup of sorrow 

To thy lips be often prest, 
Yet as each returning morrow 

Brings thee nearer to thy rest, 
Though thou may not see the fountain, 

Whence these streams of Marah flow, 
Never let thy courage fail thee. 

For "Thou shalt hereafter know." 

If thy curious mind would fathom 

That which God alone may know ; 
If thy troubled heart would query 

Why the ways of God are so; 
Why the losses and the crosses, 

Which around thy pathway lie. 
Be content, and meekly bear them. 

In the hope that by and by, 

When shall davni the glorious morning 

Of the bright eternal day, 
When the mist, and cloud, and darkness, 

That enwrap thee, pass away, 
Thou shalt see the perfect beauty, 

Of the plan of life and love, 
In its fulness emanating 

From the Father's throne above. 

48 



See and know the glad fruition, 

From the labor and the tears 
Spent within the Master's vineyard 

Through the weary lapse of years 
Then press on the path of duty, 

Though thou may not see below, 
Why uncertainties surround thee, 

Yet thou shalt hereafter know. 



THE SMOKER'S DREAM. 

1877. 



A poetic rendering of an anecdote related in a public 
newspaper. 

The preacher arose from his easy chair. 
And carefully putting his pipe away. 

He sought his couch, and after prayer. 
His weary head on his pillow lay. 

And soon he slept, and deep and long. 

Until a dim and shadowy train 
Of dreams, a dark mysterious throng. 

Came trooping over his restless brain. 

And the sleeper dreamed that the blast of fate. 
By the great arch-angel's trump was given. 

And his soul went up to the golden gate, 
That stands at the corridors of Heaven. 

And the Book of Life was opened there, 
But the waiting angel sought in vain 

Over its pages broad and fair. 
For a single trace of the smoker's name! 



And the spirit shuddered in deep dismay, 
"For my name is surely there," he thought; 

"For I love the Savior, and day by day 

My hands in the Master's work have wrought. 

The angel wept, and the pearly tears 
Fell on the page he was bending o'er. 

When lo ! there dimly and faint appears 
The name that the trembling spirit bore. 

And the angel turned from the mighty book, 
And a wondrous smile his face o'erspread. 

As he bent on the dreamer a mingled look 
Of love and pity, and softly said : 

"The smoke of thy cherished pipe for years 
Had gathered so heavy thy name about, 

That naught but an angel's pitying tears. 
And thy own contrition might wash it out." 

The vision passed, and the sleeper awoke, 

With a high resolve and a purpose strong, 
To break forever the galling yoke. 
And the cruel chain that had bound him long. 

And for the years that were yet to be. 
With a lighter heart and a clearer brain. 

In the strength of a nobler manhood free. 
He turned to the Master's work again. 



EARLY CROWNED. 

1877. 



Lines on the death of Guli Purviance Williams. 

"Leaves have their time to fall, 
And flowers to wither at the north wind's breath, 

And stars to set, but all, 
Thou hast all seasons for thine own Oh death!" 

— Hemans. 

There are some with lives extending 

O'er a weary lapse of years, 
Through the lengthened journey blending 

With their smiles, their many tears. 
Toiling on life's path of duty, 

With its crosses bowing down, 
Till upon the Hills of Beauty 

They receive the Heavenly crown. 



Others, ere the dew and brightness 

Of life's morning hours are gone,« 
Gain the robes of angel whiteness. 

Put their glorious mantle on. 
Early gathered in the fullness 

Of the Heavenly Father's love, 
Early crowned by His goodness 

In the better world above. 

One whose memory, like a blessing, 

Rests upon my heart today. 
From our loving and caressing 

In the springtime went away: 
Passed across the mystic river, 

Won the everlasting rest. 
And the crown that God would give her 

In the Kingdom of the Blest. 

51 



And we weep in human blindness 

At the loss we have sustained, 
Heedless of the Master's kindness, 

And the glory she hath gained; 
In our weakness scarcely turning 

Through our tears to look above, 
Fondly for her presence yearning 

With a strong undying love. 

But I ponder o'er the sweetness 

Of the spirit called away. 
To its grand and full completeness, 

In the world of endless day ; 
Till I listen in my dreaming 

To a melody from far. 
Sweet as angel music streaming 

Through the pearly gates ajar! 

And a feeling comes unspoken 

Of a quiet faith and trust. 
And although our joys are broken. 

And our hopes are in the dust; 
Though our skies are dark and gloomy 

And the clouds obscure the sun, 
Father! grant we still may murmur 

' ' Not my will, but Thine be done ' ' ! 



52 



THE FIRE. 

1877. 



Fire ! fire ! and the fearful cry 

On the air was loud and strong, 
And the hills around gave back the sound, 
And the terrible notes prolong; 
Ringing, 

Singing, 

Echoing there, 
That wild alarm on the wintry air! 

Out in the street, witli flying feet, 
There was hurrying to and fro, 
And the gloom of night was growing bright 
With the fire-fiend's ruddy glow; 
Lightening, 

Brightening, 

His fiery eye 
Illumined the earth and the clouds on high. 

Oh, fearful night! the weird fire-light, 

On the dark and cloudy sky. 
The roar and tlie din of the flames within, 
Leaping and spreading on high; 
Dashing, 

Flashing, 

Flying aloof. 
From the basement floor to the attic roof. 

How wildly there, in its own red glare. 

As the wintry wind swept by 
With whistle and moan, its gleaming shone, 
Like a bonfire wild and high ; 
Till swaying. 

Swinging, * 

Crashing it came 
Downward to earth, amid sparkle and flame. 

53 



But morning came, and the maddening flame, 

Its terrible work complete, 
Had died away, and the ruins lay 
Blackened and charred at our feet; 
Lonely, 

And only, 

A ruinous heap, 
A place for the stricken to linger and weep. 

But never despair, though losses and care 

May fill up our portion of sorrow. 
The storms of to-day, when night wears away. 
Give place to a brighter tomorrow; 
Lighter, 

And brighter. 

The beautiful day 
That dawns as the storm clouds are breaking 
away. 



THE OLD YEAR. 

1876. 



Farewell, thou old Centennial year ! 

Ere from thy grave I turn away, 
I fain would drop a silent tear, 

And tune for thee a simple lay. 

Thy work for right and truth should be 
The burden of my humble song. 

Thy victories of liberty. 

Of law and justice over wrong. 

Thy struggle against vice and crime. 
Thy war against oppression's power, 

In ringing notes from every clime 
Should echo o'er thy dying hour. 

54 



For triumphs in the world of thought, 
^ Where genius wins the meed of praise, 
For intellectual progress wrought, 
My voice, in just applause, I raise. 

I fain would sing the glittering gems 
Which science at thy feet hath strown, 

The gleam of Art's own diadems. 
By Labor set upon thy croWn. 

And future years shall fondly turn 

From grateful hearts their thoughts to thee. 

For still on memory's shrine shall burn 
The bale-fires of thy Jubilee, 

When every clime and mart of earth 
Sent greetings to our western shore. 

And friendship of a nobler birth, 
Thy message to the nations bore. 

But o'er my spirit comes a shade 

Of sadness, and supreme regret, 
That Avar with kindred wrongs arrayed. 

And crime and murder flourish yet. 

That Bacchus still asserts his reign, 
And fills too oft the midnight bowl, 

Till madness fires the inebriate brain. 
And lust and crime destroy the soul. 

God grant that soon the day may come 
When tyranny and wrong shall cease, 

When cannon roar, and roll of drum 
Shall die away in songs of peace. 

When the long catalog of crime 
No more shall mar creation's page. 

But Peace and Right in every clime 
Live and increase from age to age. 

55 



THE SHADOW. 

1878. 



Grief had hung its sable curtain 

Like a cloud upon my way, 
And upon my life a shadow, 

Dark and nameless, haunting lay. 
Sad the present seemed, and cheerless, 

And the web of future years 
Fancj'' wove in sombre colors, 

"With the warp and woof of tears. 

And my soul was bowed in sorrow. 

For the bitterness and woe 
Of my heart were upward welling 

In a constant overflow. 
Till the days were days of darkness, 

And the night scarce brought relief 
To my spirit overburdened 

With its plenitude of grief! 

And I wrestled in my anguish, 

Like the patriarch who strove 
With the angel at the waters. 

For liis blessing and his love ; 
Till the chastened soul ascended 

On the wings of fervent prayer. 
That the shadow might be lifted. 

And the sunlight gather there. 

Day by day the aspirations 

Of a stricken soul went up 
To the Great White Throne of mercy, 

That if possible this cup 
Filled at Marah's bitter fountains 

From my lips might pass away, 
And the clouds and gloom be driven 

From about my humble way. 



56 



But the dark and brooding shadow 

Still upon my way was spread, 
Still the bitter cup before me, 

Still the dark cloud overhead! 
But as in the hush of evening 

Sweetly sounds the vesper bell, 
So a whisper, soft and gentle, 

On my weary spirit fell. 

"Child! the prayers and intercessions 

Of thy soul are known on high, 
And the Father watcheth o'er thee 

Still with His Omniscient eye! 
Trust His grace, it is sufficient ! 

All His gifts and blessings own ! 
Heaven's eternal joy, before thee, 

Bear the cross, and wear the crown!' 

And a sense of rest and quiet 

Gently o'er my spirit stole. 
Peace, the white-winged angel, hovered 

Brooding, dove-like, o'er my soul. 
And I thank the blessed Master 

For the answer He liath sent, 
And I strive, His grace enabling, 

With my lot to be content. 

And although the shadow lingers, 

On His promise still I stand, 
Take the bitter cup as mingled 

By the great All-Father 's hand ! 
And as patiently I drink it. 

With my soul submissive bowed, 
Light is breaking through the shadow, 

And the rainbow spans the cloud ! 

57 



And the wing of Faith, once drooping, 

Soiled and trailing in the dust, 
Gathered strength, and mounting upward 

To a quiet hope and trust, 
Points beyond life 's sunset portals, 

To the hills by angels trod, 
Where, nor clouds, nor shadows gather 

In the Kingdom of our God. 



A HARVEST HYMN. 

1878. 



Almighty God ! from out whose hand 
Our blessings, countless as the sand 
Upon the ocean's sounding shore. 
Fall 'round our pathway evermore ! 
Let songs of praise our lips employ 
For all Thy gifts which we enjoy. 

These glorious summer days have brought 

Another harvest, richly fraught 

With all the stores a fertile soil 

Yields in reward for honest toil, 
Till ripening fruit, and golden grain 
Crown sunny slope, and smiling plain. 

Teach us. Oh Father ! more to see 
How all our blessings come from Thee ! 
How wealth and plenty o'er the land, 
Are mercies from Thy open hand ; 
How all the "circle of events" 
Is governed by Thy Providence. 

58 



The teeming earth is Thine, we see, 
And all its fullness comes from Thee ! 
Beneath Thy care, the season yields 
Its seed time and its harvest fields, 
The bleating flocks, and lowing kine, 
The herds on all the hills are Thine ! 

For all Thy blessings, Holy One ! 
We thank Thee ! and for time to come 
Invoke Thy guardianship Divine, 
Until the world 's great harvest time. 
Then may we, free from tares of sin, 
As golden sheaves be gathered in! 



S9 



IN MEMOBIAM. 

Semira S. Edgerton, to whose memory the following lines 
are inscribed with tears, departed this life suddenly, Ninth 
Month 11, 1878, aged thirty-four years, four months and six 
days. Her eminently kind and social nature had endeared 
her to a large circle of relatives and friends, but brightest 
around her own fire-side, and in the bosom of her own family, 
shone forth the virtues which adorned her character, illumi- 
nating the whole atmosphere of home, making it, for herself 
and those to whom her life was devoted, the dearest spot on 
earth. 

But God has seen meet, in His providence, to call her 
home unto Himself, and we desire to bow humbly to His Vv^ill. 
May He have regard to the sighs and tears of the motherless 
and afflicted! 

She was buried at Friend's grave-yard, near Coal Creek, 
Iowa, Ninth Month 13th, 1878. Her grave is the second from 
the south, in the sixth row from the east. 



To the Departed. 



Adieu sweet wife ! bowed down with grief, 
Above thy new-made grave I bend, 

And wet with tears the dust that lies 
Above my best and dearest friend. 

In vain for me these autumn days 

Adorn the earth with tints of bloom, 

While o'er my stricken spirit broods 
A shadow deep as winter's gloom. 

For sorrow like a sable pall, 

Hangs o'er the home that thou hast left. 
And blinding tears are wont to fall 

From mourning ones, of thee bereft. 
60 



But as I weep o'er buried hopes, 

With tears which I may not restrain, 

A vision, beautiful and bright, 

Dawns gently on my aching brain. 



A glimpse of beauty, far away 
In that bright city of the blest. 

Where toil-worn feet no longer stray. 
And weary souls forever rest. 



And there before the throne of God, 
With spotless robes and seraph wings. 

Thy hand attunes a golden harp, 

Thy voice with angel sweetness sings. 



Thy feet no longer bruised and worn 
And weary, tread the starry ways 

And shining pathways, hand in hand 
With those, the loved of other days. 



God grant us faith to look above ! 

And see the glory thou hast won! 
And through our sighs and tears to breathe 

From bleeding hearts ' ' Thy will be done ! ' 



And may He to His poor shorn lambs 
Temper the stormy wind of life. 

Keep us and lead us safely home 
Unto Himself and thete, dear wife ! 

Ninth Month 23rd, 1878. 
61 



MY ANGEL WIFE. 



I have a wife, an angel wife ! 

In a realm of joy untold, 
Where angels stand in the JBeautiful Land, 

Striking their harps of gold. 

And the songs they sing, the notes that ring 
From their harp-strings, sweet a ad clear, 

Float down from far, through the gates ajar, 
Till their music I almost hear. 

And I almost seem to catch the gleam 

Of their beautiful robes of white, 
As to and fro on their wings of snow, 

They glance through the fields of light. 

And resting there, from the toil and care, 

And the weariness of life. 
Where loved ones meet in the golden street, 

There dwelleth my angel wife ! 

In that beautiful land at God's right hand, 
Where the founts of healing flow. 

No sickness there, for the soul to bear. 
Nor weariness, pain, nor woe. 

Nor bitter tears, nor haunting fears. 

Besetting her spirit now, 
But her eyes are bright with Heaven's own light, 

And its glory crowns her brow. 

Oh, beautiful one ! when time is done, 

Beyond death's starless night, 
In a higher life, my angel wife. 

May our spirits reunite ! 

Ninth Month 24th, 1878. 
62 



MY BIRTHDAY. 



And I am thirty-five ! how swift 
The "flood of years" is rolling by! 

And with a strong resistless sweep, 

As of a river broad and deep, 
It bears us toward eternity ! 

Mid-way of life's on-going tide. 

My barque rides restlessly today ; 
Around me falls the welcome light 
Of heaven ; before me hid from sight, 
The cloud-lands of the future lay. 

Behind me stretches far away, 

A panorama rich and vast. 
As through the vista of the years, 
I see the smiles, and hopes, and fears 

The lights and shadows of the past. 

The green and fairy isles of youth, 

Were slowly passed, the sunny years, 
When life was new, and hearts were light 
And limbs were free, and eyes were bright, 
Undimmed by sorrow and by tears. 

And memory loves to linger still, 

Where on the ever-widening stream, 
The spring of manhood 'g early prime, 
And love's perennial summer-time 
Commingle in one happy dream. 

63 



And that sweet friend, who at my side 

Dared every breaker's stormy crest 
A dozen years, then furled her sail, 
And with the "boatman cold and pale' 
Entered the haven of her rest. 

Thus ever ebbing with the tide, 
Our individual lives float on, 
And those who sail with us today, 
May drift tomorrow, far away, 
Beyond the curtains of the dawn 

And swifter speeds my barque along, 

As years in swift succession come. 

And soon the land-ward-blowing gale 

Will fan my cheek and swell my sail. 

And waft me quickly to my home. 

Oh, Heavenly Pilot ! take the helm ! 

And guide me safely evermore, 
Amid the dangers of my way, 
Until my pilgrim boat shall lay 

At anchor on the Shining Shore. 

Seventh Month 12th, 1880. 



64 



NEW YEARS EVE MUSINGS. 

Twelfth Month 31st, 1878. 



Alone within my quiet room 

I while the lonely hours away 
With thoughts of her, around whose tomb 

Sweet halos of remembrance play : 
Sweet recollections of the time 

Now shrouded in the dreamy past, 
When her fond love was wholly mine, — 

A treasure, all too bright to last ! 

When at my side, for woe or weal, 

Sharing alike my hopes and fears, 
In pain and sickness, balm to heal. 

Weeping at all my bitter tears ! — 
Alas ! poor bleeding heart ! in vain 

Must be thy yearning wild and strong ! 
The music of her voice again 

No more shall sweep thy chords along. 

For as we trod the rugged road 

Of life and duty, hand in hand. 
Helping to bear each-other's load, 

With eyes upon the ''Better Land", 
Her gentle hand was snatched from mine, 

And angels bore her from my sight 
To that bright world, where sing and shine 

The saints of God in robes of white. 

And there, methinks within the gates 

Of pearl, where angels prostrate fall, 
i\Iy angel wife expectant waits, 

Or leaning o'er the jasper wall 
Beckons her loved ones to that land. 

Where death and parting are no more, 
AVhere toil-worn feet all rested stand 

With her upon that radiant shore. 

65 



THE GRAVE IN THE WEST. 

1879. 



Blow gently, ye winds of the prairies ! 

Fan softly one grave in the West ! 
Kiss the cheeks of the sweet floral fairies 

Abloom by the place of her rest ! 

And sparkle ye dews of the morning ! 

On fragrant wild violet and rose ! 
In their summer-time glory adorning 

The spot where her ashes repose. 

Fall softly, ye rain drops, and lightly! 

On that grave where no more I may weep ! 
And ye stars shining solemnly, nightly 

Your vigils above it may keep ! 

And thither your rapid flight winging. 
Sweet minstrels of forest and dell! 

There over her lone pillow singing 
To the being who loved you so well ! 

Where grasses and flowerets are springing, 
There over the dust of the dead. 

The music of Nature is ringing. 
And her wild benedictions are said. 

Oh, grave in the West! when recalling 
The joys and the hopes left with thee ! 

The tears of my anguish are falling. 

And my heart heaves and moans like the s 

And lonely, and sad, and repining, 
I weep o'er the way I must tread. 

Yet still there's a bright ''silver lining" 
To the clouds that hang over my head. 



For the eyes of my sad spirit greeting, 
Sweet visions of beauty arise, 

And Hope fondly points to a meeting, 
A reunion of love in the skies. 

Cheer up then my soul ! nor misgiving, 
Nor doubt, nor despair must be thine ! 

For God and humanity living 

Till a grave in the valley be mine. 



MY CHILDHOOD'S HOME. 

1879. 



Home of my childhood ! once again 
I greet thy old time-honored walls, 
I sit beneath thy orchard trees. 
And on my ears the hum of bees. 
As in my early boyhood falls. 

I wander in the pleasant shade 
Of grand old maples in the grove. 
And the sweet southern breezes play 
Among the leafy boughs today, 
The notes my childhood learned to love. 

Again I drink the cooling draughts. 
That from the rocky hillside flow ; 
But mirrored on the crystal streams. 
How changed the stooping figure seems, 
Since drinking thirty years ago. 

67 



Oh, time and change, alas, alas ! 

How sadly on my spirit falls 

Your heavy hand, as from the tears, 
And smiles, and hopes of bygone years. 

The voice of memory calls. 

The happy group that gathered here. 
At board and hearth, in years gone by. 

Is parted now, and scattered wide ; 

In prairie home, by mountain side, 
Its broken fragments lie. 

And passing to their quiet rest 
In the eternal morning's dawn, 
A father with his silvered hair, 
A mother with her loving care, 
Brothers and sisters, too, have gone. 

And one more dear than all to me. 
Whom here I learned to trust and love, 
Was all my own a few brief years. 
Then from a life of hopes and fears. 
Passed into bliss above ! 

Called in the noon of womanhood. 
From fond and loving hearts away ; 
Long may her hallowed influence rest, 
As dews distill on Hermon's crest. 
Upon my lonely way. 

A few more years ! I too shall pass 
Across the river dark and wide; 

God grant that in the world to come, 
The loved ones of my heart and home 
May gather at my side. 



THE VISION. 
1879. 



Oh ! there are moments when the tide 

Of feeling rises uncontrolled, 
When o'er the heart, however brave. 
The sweep of its resistless wave 

Like ocean's angry surge is rolled! 

Moments, when naught may intervene 

To stay the flood of falling tears. 
As from the dark mysterious sea. 
And haunted isles of memory, 
Float by, the scenes of other years. 

Scenes that have power to stir the soul 
Down to its centre still and deep. 

Striking its rich and trembling keys, 

Until their solemn harmonies 
Float o'er us in their outward sweep. 

Oh ! scenes and joys of other years. 
Gone down into the echoing past; 
Over my restless brain tonight 
Are visions thronging, dark and bright, 
A panorama rich and vast; 

But brightest, foremost of the train. 

One lovely presence, still I find, 
With beaming eye and breathing lip. 
And all the sweet companionship, 
And glory of her heart and mind. 

69 



And with her gentle hand in mine, 
Her saered influence o'er me thrown, 

Again I feel her loving care, 

Again I breathe the social air. 
The holy atmosphere of home! 

But sweetest dreams will soonest fade, 

As from the sky the richest stains, 
So passes from ray ravished sense 
The vision, but still more intense 
The yearning of my heart remains. 

But Love will dream, and Hope will trust 

That in the glorious morning's dawn, 
When on the everlasting hills, 
The tears of anguish, and the ills 
Of mortal life are lost and gone. 

That there in glory we may meet 

The "loved and lost" of other years. 
Upon the bright eternal shore, 
Where parting smites the soul no more, 
And dried are all our bitter tears. 



THE LAND OF DREAMS. 

1879. 



Oh, dim and shadowy Dreamland ! 

What mysteries are thine? 
What strange and wild illusions 

Along thy borders shine ! 

What dark and haunting shadows 
Along thy valleys glide ! 

What gleams of heavenly glory 
Lie on thy mountain side ! 



70 



Scenes of ethereal beauty- 
Lie hid thy dells among, 

And on our ears fall sweetly 
Snatches of angel song. 

And lips of "loved and lost" ones 
Tliat speak on earth no more, 

Here breathe in love their blessings 
Upon us, as of yore. 

And our hearts in rapture tremble 
At their accents soft and low, 

Floating downward through the stillness 
From the shades of long ago. 

And we see their smiling faces, 
And their loving eyes of light 

Melting through the clouds above us, 
Filling us with strange delight. 

Sweeping o'er our silent heart-strings. 

Waking joys that buried lay 
With the loved ones who are sleeping 

Where the cypress shadows play, 

Joys which shed a mournful sweetness 

O'er our busy waking hours. 
Bringing back the forms and faces 

Of those darling ones of ours, 

Who no more on earth can meet us, 
Save in memory and in dreams, 

Who have passed beyond the river 
Where the Golden City gleams. 

71 



THANKSGIVING. 

1880. 



Almighty Father! wilt thou hear 
The hymns of gratitude and praise, 

Ascending from our myriad homes? — 
The tribute that tlie Nation pays, 

To Thee whose right supreme it is 
To mold by Thy omnipotence, 

The eternal destinies of life, 
The changing circle of events. 

For all the blessings manifold, 

Which, falling from Thy open hand, 

Have borne the rich and precious boon 
Of peace and plenty through the land. 

For all the wealth of golden grain 

That crowned the summer's sunny brow, 

The autumn's fields of ripened corn, 
The fruitage of the orchard bough ; 

The verdure of the smiling plain, 
M^here lowing cattle range at will, 

The happy homes and bursting barns, 
The bleating flocks upon the hill; 

The bench and forge, where men of toil. 

By thrift and industry arrayed. 
Are urging through its varied course 

The rich and rapid stream of trade. 

For all of these, aye more than this — 
Even for the very life we live — 

Our food and sleep, the air we breathe, 
Are blessings Thou alone can give. 

72 



We only by thy bounty claim 

The life and wealth that nature fills, 

For Thine are all the flocks and herds— 
"The cattle on a thousand hills". 

Help us, still more to recognize 

Thy over-ruling Providence, 
To see and own Thy guiding hand, 

Through every changing circumstance. 

Give us. Oh Father ! thankful hearts 
Thy power to own, Thy love to prize, 

So from our souls a living hymn 
Of pure thanksgiving may arise. 



HEART GUESTS. 

1880. 



Night has thrown her trailing garments 

O'er the busy world again. 
Silencing the din and murmur 

In the busy haunts of men. 

Stilling in the street the trampling, 
As the twilight shadows fade, 

Quieting the fevered beating 
Of the throbbing pulse of trade. 

Bringing sleep to chase the shadows 
From the brow of care away, 

Re.st to hands and hearts aweary 
With the labors of the day. 

73 



And within my chamber sitting, 
Listening to the falling rain, 

As it beats upon the shingles, 
And against the windoAV pane; 

Silently there steal around me 

Beaming faces, tender eyes, 
And my Heart Guests are beside me, 

Whose enduring love I prize. 

Friends from far and near surround me, 
Loving eyes gaze in my own, 

Till I almost hear the music 
Of each sweet familiar tone. 

At my knees the children gather. 
And their arms about me twine. 

And beneath their golden ringlets 
Merry eyes of azure shine. 

But as memory's busy finger 
Points to scenes of other years. 

Swells my heart with deep emotion, 
And my eyes are dim with tears. 

For beside me sits a loved one 

Dearest of them all to me. 
With her large sweet eyes upon me, 

And her winning smile I see, 

Just as in the days departed. 

Ere she crossed the mystic wave; — ■ 

Now, alas ! the grass is growing 
Fresh and green upon her grave. 

74 



And my heart responsive trembles 
As her voice in blessing falls 

Sweetly through the echoing portals, 
Of the soul's mysterious halls. 

Thus among my loving heart guests, 
Swift the moments pass away. 

In a feast of mental pleasure — 
SAveetest hours of all the day ! 

But the warning notes are ringing, 
From the clock upon the wall. 

And I seek my couch of slumber, 
With a kind adieu to all. 

But ere sleep my eyelids touches, 
From a grateful heart I pray 

"May the Father guide you safely 
In life's rough and toilsome way. 

"And may those whose shining garments 
Trail beside Life's crystal streams. 

Oft in memory sit beside me, 
Often visit me in dreams." 



75 



OLD YEAR MEMORIES. 

1880. 



The year is growing old, dear friend ! 

The year is growing old. 
The snow is on the silent hills, 

The air is crisp and cold; 
The day is bright, and brief, and cold ! 

I see the sun go grandly down. 

The stars come out on high, 
And the new moon, a thread of light, 

Upon the western sky 
Hang timid, trembling in the sky. 

And as I sit beside the fire. 

And watch its cheerful glow. 
My heart is busy with the scenes 

And friends of long ago. 
Living and dead, of long ago. 

As one by one, the stars steal out 

To deck the winter sky, 
So memory summons those I loved 

In years long since gone by 
Dear friend ! in years long since gone by. 

I almost hear the merry laugh. 

And see the sparkling eyes. 
And catch the old, familiar tones 

Of those I fondly prize; 
Ah yes ! of friends I fondly prize. 

I see again our native hills 

O'er which the blue skies bend. 

And seem again to tread their slopes 
With thee ! my gentle friend ; 

With thee, my tried and trusted friend ! 

76 



But ah ! the rugged paths of life 
Have led where mountains rise, 

And wearily, with bleeding feet, 
And under low 'ring skies 

We go, sometimes what gloomy skies ! 

But mingled with the cloud and storm, 

God's blessed sunshine falls 
Around us, and the angel Hope 

From heights above us calls — 
To brighter, higher summits, calls ! 

The year is growing old, dear friend ! 

And the brief winter day 
Of life full soon will bring the snow, 

And touch our locks with gray; 
Our brows with care, our locks with gray. 

God grant that all the coming years 
Courage and strength may lend. 

To meet the toil and reach the goal 
Where human life shall end. 

And life Divine begin, dear friend ! 



WHAT INSPIRES. 



A satire on a poem (?) with the same title, appearing in 
"The Independent Register", along about 1880. 

What does inspire the lofty thoughts, 
The burning, swelling words of song? 

Which with harmonic cadence float 
The heart's vibrating chords along? 

What may inspire the ardent zeal 
That burns the poet^'s midnight oil? 

What nerves his heart to struggle on 
Through years of unrequited toil? 

77 



Can "sunshine" or ''dark nights" induce 
The nine to quit their fabled streams 

Of Myth?— Better the day for toil, 
Better the night for sleep and dreams! 

Better the "Editorial page" 

To tell us who has sold or bought, 

Who's married, dead, or left the town, 
Than to "inspire" poetic thought! 

And tell us not that "jflattery's" voice 
"Inspires to song," till bubbling o'er 

With poetry, its echoes wake 

"Where song had never been before". 

'Tis true that sorrow's heavy hand 
May strike upon the inner keys 

Of being, waking at the touch 
Their fullest, sweetest harmonies. 

But only when within the heart 
Lies hidden and inborn the stream 

Of Poesy, which, murmuring there. 
Dwells with us, as a happy dream ; 

Until strong feeling strikes the soul. 
Then rises upward at the shock. 

As gushed beneath the prophet's blow, 
The water from the smitten rock. 



78 



THE DEATH OF THE YEAR. 

1880. 



The twilight glow has faded, 
And the dusky shadows fall, 

And their mantle wraps the busy world 
In the darkness, like a pall 

And the winds are sadly sighing. 
And the night is dark and drear. 

And the tears of the clouds are falling 
On the death-bed of the year. 

Oh, the dying year! how swiftly 

The seasons come and go. 
To the rhythm of the ''Flood of Years,' 

In its never ceasing flow. 

The springtime came with south winds, 
And beautiful birds and flowers, 

Filling with fragrance and music, 
The breath of the balmy hours. 

And summer, with rain and sunshine, 
And blessing of ripened grain. 

Decked, like a garden of beauty, 
Hillside and valley and plain. 

And autumn with bursting garners, 
And the orchard's laxvish stores. 

And forests, dyed with the glories 
Of the sunset's golden doors. 

79 



But all these passed ; the children 
Of the stricken year are dead, 

And only the winter watches 
Beside his dying bed. 

And out in the wind and darkness, 
In the dome of the midnight skies, 

With icy hand in the New Year's palm, 
Moaning, the old year dies ! 



MOONLIGHT MUSINGS. 

1880. 



Day, declining from the hill-tops, 
Through the sunset gates has gone, 

And the summer night comes softly, 
With her sable garments on. 

And the curtain of the twilight, 
Folding closely 'round the hills, 

Hushes Nature's myriad voices. 
And the din of business stills. 

And the moon in modest splendor 

Rises in the eastern sky, 
Touching with her brush of silver 

All the clouds that 'round her lie. 

Dallying with their fleecy curtains, 
Weaving them with threads of light 

In a veil of gorgeous beauty, 
On the dusky brow of night. 

Filling all the skies with glory, 
Till her rich and mellow haze 

Hides the starry lamps of heaven 
In her own effulgent rays. 



Clothing all the quiet landscape 
With the mantle of her beams, 

Soft as trailing spirit-garments, 
In the mystic land of dreams. 

Till within her soft embraces 

Nature's self seems lulled to rest, 

While the kisses of the moonbeams 
On her blushing cheek are prest. 

And as musing on the splendor 
Of the scene that 'round me lies. 

Gazing on this hour of beauty. 
Silent, with enraptured eyes, 

I am thinking how the lovelight 
Of the heart around us plays, 

Painting e'en the clouds above us 
With the pencil of its rays. 

Like the silver moonbeams filling 
All our little world with light, 

Shining even through the shadows 
Of misfortune's gloomy night. 

Resting gently, like a halo 
On the weary brow of care. 

Till beneath its magic touching, 
Joy and beauty gather there. 

And its sweet and holy influence 
Like the moonlight on the lea 

Lends a brighter charm to being, 
From our grosser nature free. 

And our spirits seem uplifted 
Toward the Better^ World above, 

Where amid its scenes of beauty 
Shines the light of perfect love. 



MESSAGE TO THE DEAD. 

1880. 



Dear Wife! again the balmy spring 
With fragrant breath of golden hours, 
Calls forth the wild bird's carolling, 
And wakes to life the lovely flowers; 

And weaves about thy western tomb 
A gorgeous robe of vernal life. 
Loading the zephyrs with perfume 
That breathe around thy grave. Dear Wife ! 

And though a second time the snows 
Of winter wrapped that mound of earth, 
And flowers above thy deep repose 
A second time have had their birth; 

Yet as my lonely footsteps press 
These woodland paths so far away, 
The tears which I may not repress, 
Bedew my pensive eyes today. 

For mingling in the busy mart 
Of trade, or when the night has stilled 
Her myriad tongues, within my heart 
An aching void remains unfilled. 

And my sad spirit turns to thee, 
Who loved so tenderly and long. 
With all its deep intensity 
Of yearning, passionate and strong. 

82 



Help me, Oh Father ! still to bear, 
In meek submission to Thy will, 
My load of loneliness and care 
And sorrow, that oppresses still. 



In mercy grant, or soon or late. 
The fragments of our household band. 
Safely within the Pearly Gate 
United evermore may stand. 



THE SURPRISE. 

1880. 



I had lingered in the school room, 
Whence the boys and girls had gone. 

Till the sun in glory setting 
Brought the twilight shadows on. 



And the wind was sadly moaning 
In the naked trees without. 

And upon the quiet campus. 

Tossed the withered leaves about. 



And upon my heart a shadow, 
Sad and sombre, seemed to fall. 

Like the shades that deeper gathered 
On the lonely school-room wall. 

For the thought was full of sadness. 
That in each accustomed place, 

I, no more should meet in gladness, 
Beaming eye, and smiling face. 

83 



So with heart depressed and lonely, 
Filled with memories sad and sweet, 

Slow I locked the dear old school-house, 
Homeward turned my weary feet. 

And as there I sat and pondered 

O'er the doings of the day, 
Asking of the misty future, 

What behind its curtain lay, 

Suddenly the door swung open. 

Smiling faces, merry eyes, 
Dancing forms again surround me 

In a glad, complete surprise. 

And their loving words and actions 
Chased my gloomy thoughts away, 

Like the twilight veil dissolving 
In the sunlight of the day. 

As a city left unguarded, 

In the midnight's lonely hour. 

Falls an easy prey to battle, 
And the grim besieger's power, 

So ye merry, loving children, 

With your hearts so true and warm, 

Planned to capture me by kindness ! 
Thought to carry me by storm ! 

But as prisoners I shall hold you. 
Nor shall let you hence depart. 

Guard you safely and forever 
In the Bastile of my heart. 



VALEDICTORY ADDRESS— To My Pupils. 
1880. 



With mingled feelings of regret and joy, 

I stand before you at the evening time. 

Regret, that we must part, and that the ties 

Which bound us here together must be broken, 

And these dear walls, which through the winter time 

Resounded to the sprightly tread, the laugh, 

The recitation, will be desolate. 

Joy, that I now lay down the burden 

Of responsibility, long borne. 

By striving, in my humble way. 

To guide your feet in wisdom's paths aright. 

And though my hands were weak, and, oftentimes, 
I failed to reach the goal of my desire. 
Yet I have striven therefor, and clinging 
To consciousness of this, I ask excuse 
From what I failed to do, trusting 
That unto me, as, unto her who sat 
And bathed the Savior's feet, the welcome 
Words may come, "She hath done what she could". 

To you, my pupils, for the kindness shown 

By you, to me, and to each other, I, 

From a full heart, would fain return my thanks. 

And may you in the coming harvest time 

Reap your full measure of its sweetest fruits. 

Oh ! may you, may we all, with jealous care 

Guard every action, for the seed we sow 

Will surely reproduce itself in kind. 

No law which God has fixed in the domain 

Of nature, is more potent than His word, 

That "as we sow, so shall we also reap." 

85 



If we 
To please our own self-will, indulge in that 
Which conscience, or the law of kindness 
Would forbid, we scatter seed, from which 
E'en in this life, we will not fail to reap. The oak 
Upon the hills, whose giant arms are spread 
Abroad to heaven, sprang from an acorn 
Like those that now bestud its branches. 
The golden grain, which, from the reaper's hand, 
Falls in the summer sun-light, is the true 
And faithful counterpart of that which fell 
Upon the summer fallow, and sprang up 
Beneath the autumn rains ; and so through all 
The various forms of nature and of life. 



Should sloth, or love of ease, delay our hand, 
Now in the springtime of our lives, be sure 
That in the same proportion, will a mind 
Unfurnished, and a barren age be ours! 
So let us strive with noble zeal to reach. 
And to aspire beyond the lower walks 
Of life ; to emulate the wise and good 
Whose bright examples shine along our way. 



Let us press forward! As time passes on, 

Age, by a dire necessity, resigns 

The place of honor and of power alike; 

And on this generation will depend 

Our country's future, when a few more years 

Have rolled away, breaking their noiseless 

Waves, upon the boundaries of Eternity. 



And if, in after years you may be called 

To the front ranks, to stand above your fellows 

And fill the places of the wise and good ! 

Oh ! may the lessons I have taught you here 

Help to prepare you for the mighty trust ; 

And I, meanwhile will hope and pray, my 

Work was not in vain, and if it lead you 

Upward to a higher sphere, a plane 

Of more exalted character, from which 

You may look down upon the world 

Beneath you, and upward to the walls 

And golden gates of Heaven, then I 

Will be content, and humbly trust 

And hope that in the mighty harvest 

Of the world, when Death has reaped 

The fields and gathered in the sheaves; 

Beyond the jasper walls and pearly gates, 

Our spirit eyes may greet each other 

And the loved ones who have gone before. 

To mingle in the peace and joy of Heaven ! 



THE ANGEL OF SPRINGTIME. 

1881. 



Welcome, Angel of the Springtime ! 

Of the bright and golden hours, 
Thrilling to the wild-bird's carol, 

Fragrant with the breath of flowers. 

Bright the beauty thou art flinging 

In the verdant lap \)f May, 
As the glorious sunshine lends thee 

All its richest tints today, 



87 



Gleaming over hill and forest, 

Where the young leaves dance and play, 
O'er the meadow where the brooklet 

Leaps and murmurs on its way. 

Gladly at thy call I wander 
From the noisy haunts of men, 

And in leaf, and bud, and blossom 
See thy smiling face again. 

Listen to thy notes of music. 

Falling gently on my ear, 
Like a gracious benediction. 

Through the dreamy atmosphere. 

But I listen with emotion, 

For I think of her whose eyes 
Always kindled at thy beauties. 
Who beneath the western skies 

Drooped and died, and now is sleeping 
Where thy sweetest blossoms wave ; 

Thrice thy gentle hand has strewn them 
Bright and fresh above her grave. 

Deck it still, Oh, lovely springtime ! 
With the flowers she loved so well, 
Though beyond the mystic portal. 
Where her soul has gone to dwell. 

Richer, rarer flowers are blooming. 
Sweeter songs are on the air, 

Purer joys than thine surround her, 
In her home of glory there. 



THE PUGNACIOUS LOVER. 

1881. 



'Tis an old and honored saying, 
"Truth is stranger far than fiction," 
And the story I shall tell you 
Goes to prove the bold assertion ; 
Goes to prove that in the real 
Lives we live, as in the ideal 
Of the author's burning fancy. 
There are startling acts and dramas, 
On the stage, that pass before us. 
With the coloring of romance, 
With the semblance of a fiction. 

Now the hero of my story 

Is a man of erudition. 

Versed in lore of school and college, 

In the laws and ways of science. 

In the laws and ways of nations : 

And withal he is a namesake 

Of the ' ' Father of his Country ' ' : 

And within the halls of learning 

Of our quiet little village. 

Where the boys and girls were gathered 

Day by day, throughout the winter, 

He had shaped the pliant branches 

Of the "Olive plants" around him. 

And beside the molding, bending, 

Of the infant minds about him. 

There was one, another teacher, 

Came to look, with smile approving, 



Upon every word and action 

Of this artful man of learning, 

Loved him for — mayhap his talents, 

Or his handsome face, that beaming 

On her sweet and girlish fancy, 

Seemed to her the bright ideal 

Of a gentle, manly lover — 

Loved him, though she knew that somewhere 

Lived the sad wreck of a woman, 

Whom this wily, wise Professor, 

Once had vowed to love and cherish. 

But the father of the maiden 

Was displeased to have his daughter 

Courted by a man, already 

Bound by law unto another: 

But the lovers passed unheeding 

All the interdicts paternal, 

All the threats and admonitions. 

All the pleading and commanding; 

For herein they saw the vision 

Of a wild romantic courtship. 

Of a rare and tragic amour! 

So to meet the expectations 
Of his own disordered fancies, 
And to make himself a hero (?) 
In the eyes of all who knew him, 
Like some ancient knight or yeoman 
In the tales of feudal ages. 
As the hero of my story 
Met, one day, upon the street side, 
With his sweetheart and her father, 
All the gallantry and courage (?) 
Of the pugilistic lover 



Burned within him, and essaying 
To secure his priceless treasure, 
(With the treasure which she carried 
In her purse of Russia leather), 
He incurred the free expression 
Of her father's strong objections; 
Words and blows were freely bandied, 
By the hands and tongues so lately 
Leading, guiding in the school-room ! 

Indecisive was the battle, 
Both were wounded, but the maiden 
Was not captured, and returning 
To her home was closely guarded. 
Lest her gallant (?) irate lover 
Steal her from the roof paternal. 

Hastily I pass the lessons. 

Which such street affrays should teach us. 

To the sequel of my story, 

Telling how the shrewd Professor 

Gains the ear of legal Justice (?) 

And from underneath the shadow 

Of symbolic sword and balance, 

Sends her messenger, who coming. 

Armed with the majestic weapon 

Of a writ of habeas corpus. 

Brings the timid, blushing maiden 

To the bar, where legal wisdom (?) 

Gives her to the pleased Professor. 

Thus my story ends ; I pause not 
At its close, to write a moral, 
Each may draw his o^wn conclusions, 
Weigh their acts, and estimate their 
Conduct for himself, as I do ! ! 

91 



THE SNOW-FALL. 

1881. 



Gently falls the fleecy snow, 
Softly as the lapse of time, 
But the music that it makes, 
And the feeling it awakes, 
Weave themselves in humble rhyme. 

Music which the heart may feel, 
Though the ear may scarcely know ; 

As a gentle interlude 

To the storm notes, wild and rude, 
Which the winds of winter blow. 

Softly fall, ye feathery flakes! 

Spread the mantle of the snow 
Over Nature in her sleep. 
And her hidden treasures keep 

Till the gentle south-winds blow. 

Till the icy bonds are loosed 
From the singing brooks again, 
And rejoicing to be free. 
Dancing downward to the sea, 
As they sing their glad refrain. 

Spread your robe of spotless white. 
Decked with jewels of the frost, 
O'er the low and narrow beds. 
Where were laid the weary heads 
Of our dearly loved and lost. 

92 



In a few more years, we, too, 
In the grave shall silent lie ; 

And the robe of snow be spread 
O'er the dwellings of the dead, 
And the winter wind be high, 

But 'twill matter not to us, 
For beyond the gloom and shade 
Of the tomb shall ever be 
Joyous spring eternally; 
Glories that shall never fade. 

Gently fall, ye crystal flakes ! 

Gently fall, ye passing years ! 
Clothe us softly for our rest. 
As the sun sinks in the west. 

And the night of death appears. 



93 



THE NATION'S SUSPENSE. 

1881. 



Written during the days of suspense, following the shooting 
of President Garfield. 

All the thrilling wires were trembling 

With their messages of grief, 
Bearing to the startled millions 

Tidings of their prostrate chief; 
Till from ocean unto ocean, 

Flashing with the lightning's speed, 
Every hamlet, every hearth-stone 

Heard the foul assassin's deed. 

'And as poised upon the balance 

Hangs the chance for life or death, 
Fifty million souls are waiting. 

Listening with abated breath ! 
Men of strength and courage falter, 

Women weep and children cry. 
And from many a household altar 

Fervent prayers ascend on high ! 

From ten thousand sanctuaries, 

With their throngs in suppliance bent, 
Floats to God the aspiration, 

"Save our noble President!" — 
Ne'er suspense so deep and painful 

Hovered in the shuddering air. 
Ne'er before the listening heavens 

Heard such universal prayer ! 

'Mid the fertile fields and valleys 

Of his own fair native state, 
On the wild hills of New England, 

Tearful, prayerful thousands wait; 
And the Mississippi heaving 

Seaward his resistless tide. 
Hears a murmur of bewailing 

From his prairies wild and wide. 

94 



And beyond the rocky summits 

Of the white Sierra's crest, 
Rich in sympathy and pity 

Beats the strong pulse of the West; 
Blending with their mountain echoes 

To the Nation's cry of pain, 
Swells the calm Pacific's chorus. 

As a deeply sad refrain! 

From the lovely sun-kissed valleys, 

From palmetto-shaded homes 
Of the South, a thrilling message, 

Full of love and pity comes; 
For the great heart of the Nation, 

By its nobler instincts bound. 
With the suffering of its chieftain 

Beats in sympathy profound. 

Oh, the sympathy of sorrow! 

Born of Charity and Love! 
Lifting up our better nature 

All our grosser selves above ! 
Making manhood seem more Christ-like, 

Through the ministries it brings, 
Gliding o'er us like the shadow 

Of an angel's silent wings. 

Blending with our human nature 

Thoughts and feelings half Divine, 
As within their worldly setting 

Precious gems of kindness shine ; 
And our kindred ties grow stronger, 

As our hopes and prayers are blent, 
In the overshadowing sorrow. 

Round our wounded President ! 



95 



THE POOR POET'S DREAM. 

1881. 



The poet sat in his workshop, 

Back from the busy street, 
Where all day long he had listened 

To the tread of passing feet ; 
Where all day long he had labored, 

With skillful hands and strong, 
Till the sun was grandly setting, 

And the evening shades grew long. 

For although his brain was busy 

With the rhythmic flow of song; 
And his touch could wake wild harmonies, 

Life's sounding chords among; 
Yet the daily need of labor, 

For the daily need of bread. 
Called for the earnest efforts 

Of hand, and heart, and head. 

So from dawn of the rosy morning, 

Till sunset, he had wrought. 
And now, at eve his heart was filled 

With rich poetic thought ; 
And visions, sweet and beautiful, 

Glimmered before his eyes. 
But veiled in shrouds, like fleecy clouds 

Sailing o'er moonlit skies. 

And now in the silent gloaming, 

When the twilight brought him rest; 
With hands by labor wearied, 

And a heart by care oppressed. 
He sought to grasp the visions 

That had passed across his way. 
And write the burning words that stirred 

His spirit through the day. 

96 



And the evening shadows deepened, 

As he vainly strove to bring 
The full harmonic cadence 

To the songs he fain would sing, 
Until weary and disheartened. 

With spirits sad and low, 
"I will write no more," he murmured, 

"All my love of song forego. 

"Naught but poverty accruing 

From the labors of my pen, 
Now, henceforth I will forsake it, 

Never court the muse again; 
Let her visions fade and vanish. 

With the raptures that they bring, 
Leave their wild ethereal beauty 

For more favored ones to sing." 

Sitting there within his workshop. 

In the silence and the gloom. 
As the darkness deeper gathered. 

Stealing through the quiet room, 
W^hile upon his heart the shadows 

Gathered still more dense and deep, 
Till outwearied and o'erburdened 

Nature soothed her child to sleep. 



And as he slept, a strange, weird dream 

Came over his weary brain. 
With power to soothe his troubled heart. 

And the heavy sense of pain; 
For he heard his own songs chanted. 

In liomes throughout the land. 
Urging to new-born energy 

Full many a nerveless hand. 

And by the coucli of suffering. 

Of painful, labored breath. 
And through the gloom that follows up 

The sable pall of death, 

97 



A sweet voice in a measured cadence 
Soothed look, and breath of pain; 

And entranced, the dreamer listened 
To his own sweet words again. 



And the vision slowly faded, 

But whispering softly near, 
A sweet ethereal voice fell 

Upon the listener's ear. 
Till a quiet joy stole o'er him, 

Filling his troubled breast, 
As the earth is filled with glory. 

From the golden doors of the west. 

' ' Turn back again to thy study, 

Sad heart, for not in vain 
Have the clouds and shadows fallen. 

And thy bitter tears like rain ; 
For the touch of human sympathy 

Is sure a blessed thing. 
And its deepest tones from very need 

Thy soul hath learned to sing. 

There are burning words thy pen must trace, 

Ere the bonds of song be riven ; 
Nor dare to wrap in a napkin's fold 

The talents God hath given. 
Go touch thy hand to the living lyre. 

And wake its notes for me. 
And the conscious joy of duty done. 

Thy rich reward will be." 

It ceased ; but still re-echoing 

Through the heart's mysterious halls, 
The thrilling voice of his happy dream 

Like a benediction falls, 
And it nerved his heart for the struggle. 

And fortified his will. 
In the toil of life before him, 

His mission to fulfill. 



98 



BELLS OF THE NEW YEAR. 

1881. 



Ring out, wild bells, on the wintry air! 
Ring out the old year, full of care I 
With all the sin its record tells; 
Ring, ring it out, ye midnight bells ! 

Ring out its deeds of blood and death, 
Ring out the cannon's fiery breath. 
Ring out its scenes of vice and woe, 
And all our passions base and low ! 

Ring out for aye its doubts and fears, 
Its swollen tide of bitter tears, 
The wrongs our hearts may not forget, 
The faded hopes that haunt us yet. 

Ring out wild bells ! your sweetest chime, 
As from the mighty womb of Time, 
Another fated year is born, 
Rocked in the cradle of the morn. 

Ring in with it the reign of peace. 
The blissful boon of love's increase, 
Till swells from every vale and hill 
The heavenly anthem of "good will". 

Ring in through Mercy's open door. 
Blessings and comfort on the poor; 
Until consumed in pity's flame 
Squalor and famine want a name. 

Ring in a stronger tie to bind 
Together hearts of human kind. 
Until our charity shall span 
The common brotherhood of man. 



MY DREAM. 

1881. 



A pleasant dream of thee, dear friend ! 
As in the darkness still and deep, 
Descended on my weary brain, 
The blessing of a restful sleep. 

The throng had left the busy streets. 
And silence in the village reigned, 
Saving the watch-dog's distant bay, 
Or moaning of the autumn wind. 

Methought again my feet had prest 
The rugged Youghiogheny hills. 
Whose misty crowns and sunny slopes, 
A pleasant page of memory fills. 

But sweeter far than all of these. 
Though clad in Nature's utmost grace. 
Came glancing through my happy dream 
The vision of thy genial face. 

The pressure of a kindly hand. 
The loving light of tender eyes, 
The music of a gentle voice. 
Stole o'er me in a sweet surprise. 

And still vibrating through my heart. 
The echo of that music swells ; 
As floats upon the summer air. 
The melody of sweet-toned bells. 

And even yet I feel the glow 
Of rapture o'er my spirit stealing, 
And urging to a fuller flow, 
The current of my better feeling. 

100 



And hope takes up the glad refrain, 
And brushes with her buoyant wing 
The cords of Love, and wakes again. 
The songs which she alone can sing. 

And may these notes harmonious sweep 
Over our separate lives, and fill 
The measure of our fondest hopes, 
Obedient to the Master's will. 



PENSIVE MUSINGS. 

1881. 



I sit alone in the gloaming. 

As the twilight curtain falls. 
And the dusky shadows gather 

Along the silent walls. 

And my heart is sad and lonely, 

As I listen to the moan 
Of the winds that plead for entrance, 

With an almost human tone. 

And I think of thee, beloved friend! 

By the home fire, far away. 
Where my day-thoughts love to linger, 

And my sleeping fancies play. 

And I wonder, in my musing. 
If thy thoughts, as wild and free 

As my own, to night are straying 
On these winged winds to me. 

Oh, how sweet, that thought unshackled 
And unbound by space, can glide 

O'er the intervening distance, 
Swiftly to each other's side! 

101 



Thus I daily walk beside thee, 
And my truant thoughts aspire 

To a more exalted standard, 
To a manhood better, higher ! 

Pardon, then, my pensive rhyming, 
The untutored minstrelsy 

Of a heart forever beating 
Truly, tenderly for thee ! 



THE RETROSPECT. 

1881. 



'Tis well, sometimes, to pause and look 
Back through the vista of the years. 

And read, as from an open book. 
The record of their smiles and tears ; 

Their lessons, learned through hopes and fears. 

Back to the years of long ago, 

When days were long and skies were bright. 
When changing seasons, passing slow. 

Still brought an ever new delight 
Of beauty to my wondering sight. 

To years of manhood's early prime. 
When Love, on her vibrating strings. 

Attuned to life's unwritten rhyme. 

Touched all my being's hidden springs. 

Wooing my heart from baser things. 

Till o'er the brow of toil and care. 

The halo of her light was shed. 
And e'en the sad and chilly air 

Of night grew soft, as overhead 
The mystic light of love was shed. 

102 



But not unmixed with bitterness, 

These pleasant years of life flew by ; 

Each brought its burden of distress, 
Its bitter tears to dim the eye, 

And clouds to fill the summer sky. 

For more than once the angel crost 
The threshold of my dwelling o'er, 

And taking those it loved the most. 
Departed to the silent shore, 

Whence travelers return no more. 

But though my cup of life has been 
At Marah's fountain often filled, 

And dreams of joy which Hope had seen, 
Faded before me unfulfilled. 

As early flowers by frost are killed. 

Yet, as I look with thoughtful eyes. 
Backward along the past to night. 

Events that bore the dark disguise 
Of trials, dawn upon my sight, 

As blessings in the present light. 

And e'en the afflictions which o'erpast. 
And bowed my stricken spirit low, 

I see and humbly own at last. 
Among my mercies, ordered so 

By Him whence all our blessings flow. 

For in the Elysian world above. 

Our dear ones live, whom we call dead : 
In brighter light and purer love. 

With Heaven's eternal freshness shed 
Abroad, its glory overhead. 

103 



And we who longer toil and wait, 
Still in our heart of hearts must own 

The influence from beyond the gate 
Of pearl, that binds us to our own ; 

The mortal to the spirit flown. 



Teach me more clearly, Lord, to see 
Through every varying circumstance 

Thy sovereign will, and trust to Thee, 
The changing "Circle of events", 

And mysteries of Thy providence. 



AN ACROSTIC— Maria Smith. 
1881. 



May a pure and noble heart be thine. 
And every act reveal it; 
Remember that in the darkest day. 
In heaven the sun still shines alway. 
And only the clouds conceal it. 



Strive then, with a conscience clear and strong, 
My child! in the life before thee. 
In confidence, though shadows lower, 
That in its over-ruling power 
Heaven still is bending o'er thee. 

104 



THE ROBIN'S "SNOWBOUND' 

1881. 



Ah, gentLe bird ! with the glowing breast, 
Away ! to some safe retreat, away ! 
For earth is piled with drifting snow. 
And the Storm King rides abroad today! 



And his hoary mantle all day long 
Through the shuddering air has drifted down, 
And a cheerless perch is thine, poor bird ! 
With naked feet in the Storm King's gown. 



Thou hast come too soon from the sunny south, 
With its verdant slopes and budding flowers. 
For the fields are white and the air is chill, 
In this dreary, northern land of ours. 



Better have stayed in the orange groves, 
Till the woodlands wake to the south-wind's 
Better — delaying domestic cares, 
Eetire from the storms of a day like this, 



And wait in patience for brighter hours, 
Which the coming season soon must bring, 
Then we will listen to catc^ thy song. 
And watch for the flash of thy shining wing. 

105 



CONSECRATION. 



The sweet, sad story of the cross, 
Tonight is fresh before me, 
Undimmed by all the passing years, 
And shimmering through the mist of tears, 
Its influence hovers o'er me. 

The glory of unselfishness, 

That crowned Christ's life of beauty, 
Gleams down the ages, and today 
Illumines with its gentle ray 

Our lines of daily duty. 

His perfect manhood stands alone ! 

Peerless in humble splendor! 
August and dignified, yet mild, 
Touching the world, yet undefiled. 

Warm, sympathetic, tender ! 

Lord of the Universe, He stood 
In meek and lowly station ! 

A homeless wanderer in the street ! 

For us He trod with bleeding feet, 
The desert of Temptation! 

Our sins upon His sinless soul. 

Too deep for line or plummet. 
He dared the nameless agony. 
The blood drops of Gethsemane, 

The cross on Calvary 's summit ! 

For us He trod the halls of Death, 
The Divine for the human ! 
And taking, with His hand of Grace, 
The veil from the Shekinah's face. 
Gave us our soul-communion! 



106 



That priceless gift, by which we come 
In touch with God, where, feeling 

Our need of His Omnipotence, 

We take His proffered hand, from whence 
Comes the free touch of healing. 

So Holy Father! touch our hearts. 
That gratitude upwelling, 
May bring us to the Savior's feet, 
With humble, chastened hearts made meet 
For Thy Divine indwelling! 

Hold Tliou our hands, and CONSECRATE 
Our talents and our ALL to Thee ' 

In duty 's path, unto Thy will 

Obedient, make and keep us still 

Thy children, through the years to be ! 



'UNDER THE SHADOW OF THY WINGS.' 

1882. 



"Hide me under the shadow of thy wings. 
Psalm XVIL, 8. 

Under the shadow of thy wings. 
Teach me. Oh Lord ! to hide ; 
Sheltered from each besetting sin. 
Or sinful thought, that stealing in, 
Allures me from Thy side. 

Under the shadow of thy wings 

Hide from the noontide ray! 
Lest underneath the lead of care 
And toil that duty bids me bear, 
I faint beside the way. 



107 



Under the shadow of thy wings, 

"When darkness shrouds the hills, 
And slumber with Lethean hand 
Holds me within her "Border Land,' 
Hide me from all its ills. 



There hide me while the heavy clouds 

And dark'ning mists of sorrow, 
Almost shut out the cheering rays 
Of hope, which, through the gloomy days, 
Tell of a brighter morrow. 



There, too, the only safe retreat 
When the darkness is dividing ; 
Oh ! keep me when the sunlight falls 
Into the heart's mysterious halls. 
Under thy wings abiding! 



Into this covert let me flee. 

While the tide of life is swelling, — 
A refuge safe, from the strife and din 
Of the busy world, where vice and sin 

May not invade my dwelling. 

Under the shadow of thy wings. 

When the hour supreme shall come ! 
Oh ! keep my soul, as the boatman pale. 
With his silent oars and snowy sail, 
Shall carry me safely home. 



THE MANIAC PRISONER. 

This circumstance was related in a periodical. 

1882. 



The maniac on his prison bed, 
Raved incoherently and wild, 

And tossed with pain his weary head, 
As oft by turns he wept or smiled. 



The wrinkled brow, the faded eye. 

The lines by pain and suffering wrought. 

The shaggy beard and whitened locks. 
The snows of four-score years had caught. 



The narrow bounds of prison walls, 

With piteous sights and sounds combined, 

For more than half a century fed 
The fancies of his darkened mind. 



Crazed by the wine-cup's mad'ning draught, 
His hand a brother's blood had shed, 

And through the anguish of remorse, 
For aye the light of reason fled. 



So through the long, slow-lapsing years. 
The hopeless maniac's restless feet. 

With aimless steps passed to and fro. 
Along his prison's narrow beat. 

109 



But now reclining on his couch, 
His life-tide ebbing fast away, 

Haggard, and pale, and desolate, 
The aged prisoner dying lay. 

But as the chilling dews of death 

Fell on his senses silently, 
The light of reason came again 

A moment, o'er his brow and eye; 

As sounding through the vacant halls 
And darkened portals of the brain, 

Like a sweet note of music, falls 
An echo from his youth again, 

And from his lips the voluble. 

And often senseless, muttering died. 

And with a childish, quavering voice, 
' ' Sweet mother take my hand ! " he cried. 

And at the outer gate of life. 
An angel turned the silent key, 

And from the threshold of his cell, 
Death set the maniac prisoner free! 



110 



NIGHT. 

1883. 



I love the quiet hour that flings 
The twilight from its sable wings, 
And stills the wild bird's earolings. 

The hour that opens wide the gates 

Ot night, behind whose bars and grates 

Ihe dim, imprisoned darkness waits. 

The hour when dusky shadows creep 
Around me growing dense and deep 
lill over all the black waves sweep! 

I love the hour when on my eye 
Gleam out in the o'er-arehing sky 
The lamps that God has hung on high. 

The hour that brings the glad release 
From day-time care; the world's surcease 
Ot labor, and its hour of peace. 

A breathing spell in the wild chase 

U± pleasure, the exciting race 

For gold and honor, power and place, 

A time to brush the dust away 

From hands and feet that all the dav 

Were toiling in the world's highway * 



A time to rest the weat-y brain, 
That worn with toil, and full oi 
Comes to the quiet night again. 

Ill 



The welcome night ! how sweet and blest 
To nature weary and distressed, 
Comes her great panacea, rest ! 

Deep be the slumber that she brings, 
Bright be the dreams that from her wings 
Fall on us, sweet the song she sings ; 

And every grace the couch adorn. 
In those dim chambers of the morn, 
Where strength from weariness is born. 



PROSPECT MOUNT. 

1883. 



And this is Prospect Mount ! the day 
Slow breaking through the shadows, 

Shone 'round us, while beneath us lay 
The fog-enshrouded meadows! 

And standing on its verdant crown. 
Bathed in the sun's new splendor, 

I feel the mantle o'er me thrown. 
Of feelings warm and tender. 

For though prophetic winds which mourn 

The season's sure advances. 
The maple's gorgeous locks had shorn 

From off their naked branches, 

Yet like a carpet in the grove 

The russet leaves were lying. 
While sweetly through the boughs above, 

The south-west winds were sighing. 

112 



The fields in their green livery drest, 
Through dewy tears were smiling, 

And with the diamonds on their breast, 
The sun's slant rays beguiling. 

The hills, whose silent hymns of praise, 

Now greet the early comer. 
Roll grandly off into the haze 

And glow of Indian Summer. 

The Beaver's course, we trace along, 
Tlirough ever pleasant changes, 

By ghostly mist that hangs among 
The hilltops' western ranges. 

AVhile from the eastward, clear and strong, 

With slow majestic motion, 
The broad Ohio sweeps along 

Its pathway to the ocean. 

And nearer, where the fertile lands, 
To sunward slopes are swelling, 

Begirt with fields and orchard stands 
The Farmer's vine-clad dwelling. 

Oh, happy spot among the hills! 

Oh, dear ones, therein dwelling ! 
Long may the quiet peace that fills 

Your home be upward welling. 

Long may your table by the hand 

Of generous bounty drest. 
Grant blessings to the household band, 

And to the coming guest. 

And may your hearts, like this bright hill, 

In life's warm sunshine glow. 
Above the mists of tears which fill, 

And vex the vales below. 



113 



THE MEETING. 

1885. 



Just inside Life's busy threshold, 
Smiling babe and grandsire meet, 

One with the path of life before him, 
Strewn with thorns for the baby feet; 

One with the journey almost ended, 
And the toil almost complete. 

One with hands that are soft" and dimpled. 
Reaching out to the future years; 

One with hands that are faint and weary. 
Bearing the burden of toil and tears ; 

Hands that have patiently struggled 
In the battle four-score years. 

One with the sweet and mimic playing 

Of the little unshod feet ; 
One tottering near the untried way. 

Where the seen and unseen meet ; 
Where the feet of angels just beyond 

Are pressing the golden street. 

One with eyes that are bright and kindling. 
And brow that is smooth and fair ; 

One with dim and failing vision. 
Careworn brow and snowy hair, 

Touched with a halo of the glory. 

That awaits him over there. 



Help us, heaven, to guard and cherish 
Smiling babe and grandsire old. 

One to the summertime of manhood. 
One to the winter snows and cold ; 

Praying that in the great hereafter, 
Both may meet in the heavenly fold. 



114 




THE OI-I) MKETING HOUSE 

The Hidge, near nnrnesville. Ohi« 



And fancy to my eye can show. 
As mirrored by some magic power. 

The group that forty years ago 
Spent here with me the meeting hour. 

(See Poem). 



THE OLD MEETING HOUSE. 

1885. 



I sit within the quiet walls 

Of the old meeting house again, 

On whose bare floor the sunlight falls 

Through open door and window pane. 

1 mark the quiet of the place, 
Still, save the cricket in the wall, 
The wind 's low murmur, with a trace 
Of sadness, and the wild bird's call. 

And memory busy with the things 
And happenings of other years. 
Over my heart a shadow brings. 
And to my eyes the ready tears. 

And fancy to my eyes doth show. 
As mirrored by some magic power, 
The group that forty years ago, 
Spent here, with me, the meeting hour, 

And from these empty benches seem 
To peer, old faces, row on row. 
As, sometimes, in a passing dream, 
We meet the friends of long ago. 

Faces and forms that swept apart, 
Upon the tossing sea of life, — 
Now toiling in the world's great mart. 
Or resting from its weary strife. 

Some in their gravq^s across the way, 
For many a year have sweetly slept. 
Some dead, some living far away. 
Have hoped and feared and toiled and wept. 

115 



But sitting musing, now they seem 
Just as of old, in childhood's day, 
When life before me like a dream 
Of some enchanted cloudland lay. 

I live again among the friends. 
With whom my infant lot was cast. 
And in my spirit strangely blends 
The present with the changeful past. 

Oh precious friends of early days ! 
Oh spot to memory ever dear ! 
Long may I love the simple ways 
And sober truths you taught me here ! 



THE "STAR OF THE CHEYENNES.' 

1885. 



God speed thee ! Star of the bold Cheyennes ! 

For I see in thy youthful face. 
In thy lofty thought and earnest words, 

A hope for thy dusky race. 

A hope that soon and forevermore 

Our frontier wars shall cease, 
And up from civilized Indian homes 

Shall arise the smoke of peace ! 

That the fertile soil of the Occident, 
To the red man's toil shall yield 

Its fabulous wealth of golden grain 
On many a harvest field. 

That the lowing kine on a thousand hills. 
Shall answer the red man's call. 

That fruit may cling to his orchard boughs, 
And vines to his cottage wall. 

116 



That over his wide, wild hunting ground, 
Churches and schools may rise. 

Till a thousand spires where now are none 
May fret our western skies. 

Till the might and majesty of the law 
Shall always stand for the right. 

And shield alike with powerful arm, 
The red man and the white. 



THE MINISTRY OF SUFFERING. 

1885. 



The ministry of suffering ! Can it be 
That in the course of God's economy, 
The agencies of sickness and of pain. 
That touch the heart, and terrify the brain, 
Are messengers of mercy that fulfill 
The unerring purpose of His holy will? 

Ah ! when their hand is laid on cheek and brow, 

Till beauty fades, and strength and courage bow, 

Until the light and bloom of health are flown, 

And Reason trembles on her fragile throne, 

Until the vital tide is ebbing low. 

And Life's exhausted pulse is beating slow, 

Wlien Being shudders on the fatal brink 

Of Dissolution, whence we ever shrink, 

Through the deep mist of tears we scarce can see 

The pointing finger of Divinity ! 

Or from the couch of suffering recognize 

Celestial blessings in such dark disguise! 

117 



Yet oftentimes 'tis this alone can prove 

The perfect fullness of Eternal love ! — 

Our hearts engrossed with all the sordid strife 

For gain, the glittering pageantry of life, 

Amhition in the lists of fame to shine. 

Or love that worships at an earthly shrine, 

Fail sometimes in our busy life to see 

Our obligations to the Deity ! 

Fail to remember, that His hand on high 

Which leads the starry host along the sky. 

Which guides the planet on its devious way, 

And with the sun unlocks the gate of day. 

Which holds the stormy winds and waves asleep, 

Or sets them free at will upon the deep. 

Bestows His blessings with parental care 

Upon our heads, and numbers every hair, 

Noteth the raven's cry, the sparrow's fall, 

Painteth the lilies by the garden wall, 

And writes on earth below and sky above, 

In lines of beauty, God's eternal love. 



But when the adverse winds of life shall blow. 
Until our hearts seem over-charged with woe, 
Or when the fever burns along our veins, 
And nature sinks exhausted with her pains, 
Then, as on drooping wing the weary dove 
Flies to her cote, the domicile of love! 
So we, when hope, and even courage flies, 
When trust in human help and wisdom dies. 
Throwing ourselves upon the Shepherd's care, 
Whose arms the weakest of the lambs will bear. 
We find in trusting to Almighty Power, 
His strength made perfect in our weakest hour ! 
And from the couch of suffering, sanctified 
By the sweet presence of the Crucified, 
We look upon the world of life, and own 
Eternal love in all our journey shown ! 

118 



And thus, as humbled underneath His rod, 
We look abroad upon the works of God, 
The sun with an unwonted splendor shines. 
And richer clusters crowd the purpling vines. 
In brighter hues the evening sky is drest, 
As sinks the sun adown the glowing west, 
All nature wears a garb of beauty rare. 
And quiet joy pervades the very air. 
To him who sees in all, the deep impress 
Of Deity with reverent thankfulness. 



His clearer vision sees in all the strife. 
The conflicts and the trials of our life. 
The guiding hand that beckons to his rest, 
And owns in simple faith, "God knoweth best". 
And ever trusting His Almighty power. 
For comfort in the dark and trying hour. 
The mede of steadfast, Christian faith is won. 
And his heart breathes the prayer, "Thy will be 
done". 



Thus may our lives by suffering be blest. 

The path of sorrow may, for us, be best, 

The omniscient eye of God alone can see 

Through the dark curtain of futurity ; 

Alone can tell what springs of joy may flow 

From the deep darkness of our present woe, — 

And in the glory of the endless day. 

When all the tears of earth are wiped away, 

Mayhap the whitest robes in all that throng. 

The sweetest voices in the heavenly song, 

The brightest diadems the angels wear, 

Are given to those, who from the toil and care. 

The tribulation, the unequal strife 

With sickness, and the varied ills of life, 

Come through the painful ordeals purified. 

As gold in the world's cruoial furnace tried, 

Polished and radiant with iDiviner light, 

Bearing the Master's image clear and bright. 

119 



OUR REFUGE. 

1885. 



There are seasons when our sorrows 
Come to be too great a load, 

When our bleeding feet grow weary, 
In life's steep and rugged road. 

There are seasons when our heart-aches, 

And our pains are manifold, 
When our cup at Marah's fountain, 

Fills with bitterness untold. 

Seasons when the angry beating 
Of life's storms is so intense, 

That we blindly struggle onward. 
Seeking shelter and defense. 

There are seasons when affliction 

Smites us with an iron rod. 
Driving us for very shelter 

To the refuge of our God. 

Happy thought. Oh, Christian! bending 
Underneath thy load of care. 

That the Master condescending, 
Still will help thy load to bear. 

Still will temper down thy anguish, 
Guard the flood-gates of thy woe ; 

Whisper to the waves of sorrow, 
That they may not overflow. 

Let us then still closer pressing. 
At His feet cast all our care; 

Asking, as our special blessing, 
That He help our load to bear. 

Asking that His grace, sufficient 

Unto every need be given. 
Till life's ills are all forgotten 

In the crowning joy of Heaven. 

120 



THE DEAD MILLIONAIRE. 



He stood above his fellows, bold 
In power and wealth and influence, 
He Avas, forsooth, a money prince, 

Was fawned on, honored, and cajoled. 



His hands by magic seeming, passed 
Whatever things he touched to gold, 
Until his wealth, by millions told. 

Grew into aggregations A'^ast ! 



Broad lands where sun-kissed valleys dip. 
Great railways stretching south and north, 
And thundering engines echoed forth 

Confession of his ownership. 



Rare were his opportunities, 

The skill to plan, the wealth to do. 
The iron will that could pursue 

To ultimate success, were his. 

No wish he could not gratify — 
Known to commercial toil and strife. 
In all the busy whirl of life — 

That power could win or gold could buy. 

But there are bounds of Providence, 
O'er which we dare not, cannot go, 
Where all alike must meet and bow. 

And own our human impotence ! 

80, in the zenith of his pride. 

With strong hands holding fast his store 
And reaching eagerly for more, 

God touched him, and the rich man died ! 



121 



Died as the beggar dies, no more 
His untold millions could avail 
To stay the passage of the sail, 

That bore him to the unseen shore ! 



Death makes men equal ! low and high ! 
Naked and poor we quit the bound 
Of life, but, in the darkness 'round, 

Faith gives what riches cannot buy ! 

And he, who rich in faith, can bring 
Unto an hour supreme, as this. 
The assurance of eternal bliss. 

Is richer far than any king ! 

For when life's golden chain is riven, 
Not all earth's riches may suffice 
To bear one soul to paradise. 

Or ope one pearl-set gate of Heaven, 



122 



HOME MEMORIES. 

1885. 



Lines addressed to the author's brother. 

I am sitting, brother, thinking 

Of the years of long ago, 
When life's morning winds were blowing. 

And the tide was at its flow. 
Ere our barks had drifted seaward. 

Or had kissed the billow's foam. 
Ere were weighed the heavy anchors 

Binding to our childhood's home. 



Thinking of the long, bright summers, 

Golden grain and fruiting trees. 
Crowning all the hills with splendor. 

Such as childhood only sees. 
Childhood ! Which, with eyes wide open 

For its treasures, soon could tell 
Where the wild grape hung its clusters, 

Where the nuts of autumn fell. 



Thinking of the grand old maples, 

In the grove beyond the lane. 
Where, when spring struck off the shackles 

Of the winter's icy reign. 
Rich and sweet to meet the sunshine 

Gleaming through the naked wood, 
Leaped in all their veins, the currents 

Of the sugar-laden blood. 



Thinking of the laughing brooklet, 

Wliere we watched -the minnows play, 

Of the barn beside the orchard. 
Fragrant with the new-mown hay ; 



123 



Where the harvest season gathered 
In, its wealth of golden sheaves, 

Where the swallow nests were builded 
Underneath the shelt'ring eaves. 

Of the spring that from the hillside. 

In its sparkling coolness burst, 
Where at summer's sultry noontide 

We were wont to slake our thirst — 
Ah ! those waters may not mirror 

Back the forms they gave us then, 
For those boys, as if by magic. 

Are transformed to bearded men. 

And as thus my memory catches 

Glimpses of our boyhood's prime. 
Backward through the years departed 

Seems to roll the tide of time. 
Childhood's silver notes are floating 

To my ears on every breeze, 
Comes before my eyes a vision 

Of the old home 'mid the trees. 

Forms and faces of the loved ones 

Of the household come again. 
Thronging through the halls of memory 

Opened in my restless brain. 
Round the old familiar fireside, 

Every form again appears. 
As in childhood's days, regardless 

Of the flight of thirty years. 

Ah, what changes! I remember, 

As the phantoms of the past. 
Slowly steal into the shadows 

Of the distance, dim and vast. 
That across the swelling river. 

Death has borne with muffled oar. 
Loving ones into the harbor 

Of the distant, unseen shore. 



124 



Some within the quiet graveyard, 

Near the old home, calmly rest, 
Some beneath the turf are sleeping 

Sweetly in the distant west; 
Some are living where the shadows 

Round our home of childhood play. 
Others out on life's broad ocean 

Drifting, drifting far away. 

Ah ! how time 's resistless changes 

Break our loving household bands! 
How the winged years divide us 

With their unrelenting hands! 
Yet, amid the rush and bustle 

Of the world. Oh ! let us turn 
Sometimes to the dear old hearthstone 

Where our childhood altars burn ! 



And a fervent prayer I utter, 

That although we drift apart 
In the journey; when the traffic 

Of the great world's busy mart, 
Shall have faded from our vision. 

As we near the hour of rest. 
We may meet beyond the river. 

In the harbors of the blest ! 



125 



THE SNOW STORM. 

1886. 



Far south of east, the sun arose 

From beds of cloud that winter morn, 

But cold and clieerless was the orb, 

From which the golden locks were shorn 

By the dull haze, which overhead 

Its all-pervading curtain spread. 

The vane upon the steeple stood 
Eastward, and trembling in the flood 
Of winds, that on the village poured. 
And through the naked maples roared. 
Hung in mid-air its silent form 
In prophecy of coming storm. 
And as the chilly day wore on. 
More dimly slione the waning sun. 
Till long before the hour of night. 
Its pallid face was hidden quite 
Amid dense folds of leaden cloud, 

Revealing neither rift nor rent, 
And twilight shadows came, ere yet 

The sun had touched the Occident. 



So came the night, and from her wings 

Of darkness, quivering, fluttering down. 
The snowflakes on the strong east wind 

Came eddying, whirling through the town. 
Into each alley, lane and street. 
The blinding storm, incessant, beat ; 
Alike on hut and mansion fell 

The spotless mantle of the snow. 
And many a mimic hill and dell 

Grew in the drifting current's flow. 
Against the great glass fronts it came, 
And piled high up the window frame. 

126 



Down the long pavements row on row, 
The street lights glimmered through the snow, 
And quickly passed the hurrying feet 
Along the half deserted street. 

Vithin the well llumined stores, 
Protected from the storm out-doors, 
A few late customers delayed. 
Around the fire to chat and trade. 

But one by one the lights went out, 

And one by one the busy men 
Of toil and trade, their faces turned 

To the sweet lights of home again. 
The hand upon the yielding latch. 

The footstep in the lighted hall, 
The music of a gentle voice. 

And kindly answer to the call, 
The slippers and the easy chair. 
By the warm fireside placed with care, 
Dispel the thoughts of storm and snow, 
Before the home fire's ruddy glow. 

The good-wife at her sewing sat. 

The children conned their lessons o'er 

Beside the lamp; the baby played 
Among his treasures on the floor, 

Or climbed upon the father's knee, 
With artless prattle telling o'er 

The unknown tale with childish glee. 

And thus the social ev'ning sped, 
With pleasant stories, told or read ; 
Forgotten was the storm that kept 
Its carnival without, that crept 
Through every tempting^ crack, and swept 
Fiercely against the shuttered pane 
That rattled to the blast again. 

127 



But bedtime came ; the chapter read, 
Had charmed the baby's fiaxen head 
To sleep upon the mother's breast, 
Where childhood fondly loves to rest; 
And soon the blessed boon of sleep 
Came to the household, as the sweep 
Of angel pinions, letting fall 
God's benediction upon all. 



Thrice blest is he, who, from the strife 
And toil and weariness of life. 
When evening's welcome shadows come, 
Finds rest and happiness at home. 



Oh ! home, most blessed spot of earth ! 

Where constant love and kindness reign 

Within the family domain, 
W^here the staunch virtues have their birth, 
Which make our manhood truly great. 
The hope and honor of the state ! 
AVhat potent force is thine that turns 
The heart, where e'er we roam, to thee? 
Thy fireside altar ever burns. 

The pole-star on our stormy sea. 
Thy sacred influence still must be 

The corner-stone whereon are built 
The bulwarks of our liberty! — 



All night the chilly east wind swept 
About the village as it slept ! 
Along the white, deserted street. 
The police on his lonely beat. 
Paused on his weary round to hear 
The spectre storm-king's footfall near: 
Sounded all night his piteous moan, 
In sad and dreary monotone. 
As on the silent, sleeping town 
His ghostly mantle floated down. 



128 



But never night so dark or wild, 
On which the morning never smiled ; 
The deepest shadows may not stay, 
The darkest clouds will roll away ; 
And, born of this tempestuous night, 

Came, stealing slowly, cold and gray, 

The dawning of another day; 
Revealing in the morning light, 
A world as new and pure as seems 
The sweetest fancy of our dreams, 

Unrivalled in its spotless dress. 

Ethereal in its loveliness ! 



On street and sidewalk lay the snow 
Knee-deep, and soon a goodly row 
Of men, with shovel and with broom, 
Betrayed the sudden business boom, 
That with the snow storm came to town ; 
Until, white-walled, the pavement lay 
On either side, a narrow way, 
With footsteps passing up and down. 



The sleigh-bell's merry chime rings out 
Upon the air, the teamster's shout 
Comes shrilly on the ears, the rout 
And romp of childhood, wild with play, 
The engine on its iron way, — 

Waking the echoes that had slept, — 
To welcome in the busy day. 
Came shrieking, toiling through the snow, 
And from its path, on either side 
The white waves of the crystal tide 
From the great cleaving snow-plow flow. 



And soon the news-boy on his round 
Shouts ' ' morning papers ! ' ' and our eyes 
Glance o'er events and happenings. 
Of the great world that round us lies ; 

129 



And as I read, I think how strange 
And passing wonderful the change 
The years have wrought ! Upon the wing 
Of the tamed lightning, now we bring 
The news from every clime and zone, 
Full and co-equal with our own; 
Comes pulsing from each busy mart 

Of earth, beneath the storm and dash 

Of ocean, the electric flash. 
The beating of the world 's great heart ! 

And in the city's constant stir, 

Amid the wild incessant whir 

Of wheels, the hissing rush of steam. 

The electric candle's dazzling gleam, 

And with the almost painful stress, 

And clang and clatter of the press. 

That triumph of a rapid age 

Flings from its forms the printed page, 

Which out upon the unconscious night, 

Like birds of passage take their flight. 

Oh ! world of anxious push and strain ! 

Of grasping hand and restless brain! 

Of avarice and engrossing care ! 

I sometimes pause and wonder where 

The constantly increasing rate 

At which we live will terminate ! 

But terminate it will and must! 

The active hand, the planning brain, 
Outwearied by life's constant strain, 
Outworn by all its toil and pain, 

Full soon will crumble into dust ; 

Full soon will sleep to wake no more. 

And all life's fitful storm be o'er. 



130 



THE NEGLECTED FLOWER. 

1886. 



Alone by the dusty roadside, 

A floweret meekly grew, 
In the heat of the sultry noontide. 

In the night's refreshing dew, 

Till the folded leaves expanded 
To a rose of perfect bloom, 

And the winds of evening dallied 
With its delicate perfume. 

Day by day the tide of travel, 
In the busy bustling town, 

Heedless of the op'ning blossom. 
Still went surging up and down. 

And the robes of pride and fashion, 
Swept above the lovely flower. 

And the feet of careless passers 
Threatened it in every hour. 

When dust of the highway gathered 

On it, again and again, 
'Twas washed by the gentle falling 

Of the pearly drops of rain. 

And there, by the wayside bending, 
In the evening's twilight hour, 

With tears on her clieeks of crimson, 
Blushed the neglected flower! 

131 



And my heart was touched with pity, 
That a rose so sweet and fair, 

Unnoticed and neglected thus, 
Should waste its sweetness there. 

And I thought, how many blossoms 
Of human-kind have grown. 

Thus by life's dusty roadside, 
Neglected, sad, and lone ! 

Whose cheerful and modest beauty, 
Though hidden by weeds of fate. 

Surpassed, perhaps, pretentious ones, 
That the haughty world calls great. 

So, tenderly, I gathered it 
And washed the dust away. 

And carried it to the chamber. 
Where a sad, sweet, sick girl lay. 

And there in the morning sunlight. 
That beautiful bit of bloom, 

Had filled a heart with tenderness, 
A chamber with perfume. 



132 



SILENT WORSHIP. 

1886. 



I sat among the worshippers, 

The silence was unbroken, 
For not a word of prayer or praise, 

By mortal tongue was spoken ; 
The silence, sweet and solemn, fell 

Upon the gathered throng, 
But the gospel's living current 

Flowed preciously along, 

From vessel unto vessel, 

From prostrate soul to soul; 
The bowed in spirit felt the power. 

Of living virtue roll. 
And waiting in the Master's name. 

To know His sovereign will, 
There fell upon the spirit's ear. 

The whisper, "Peace, be still." 

Ah ! the great Minister was there, 

Dispensing heavenly good. 
Unto the luke-warm ones, reproof, 

Unto the hungry, food; 
And some who came in poverty. 

Faithless and destitute. 
In this sweet silence, felt their faith 

And confidence recruit. 

Oh, 'tis a precious privilege ! 

With worldly thoughts laid low. 
Silent before the throne of Grace, 

In penitence to bow : 
Oh, 'tis a precious privilege ! 

To feel, as true, his word 
That they shall have their strength renewed, 

Who wait upon the Lord ! 

133 



Oh, gracious God ! a rebel, I 

Against Thy power have striven, 
And yet presume to come to Thee, 

Craving to be forgiven ; 
Then let me humbly bow with those 

Who on Thy mercy call ! 
And while they feast, grant me the crumbs 

That from Thy table fall. 



EQUALITY. 

1887. 



I sat upon the river's brink, 

And watched the eddying waters flow. 
And saw its bubbles rise and sink. 

And tiny wavelets come and go ; 

And listened to the gentle sound 
Of plashing waters on the shore, 

The treble of their quick rebound, 
The waterfall, in distant roar. 

And felt my heart grow strangely warm, 
And throb with sweet poetic feeling; 

Till o'er me crept a quiet charm. 

Like summer breezes 'round me stealing. 

And on this trunk, with moss o'ergrown. 
Half buried in the dancing stream, 

Lulled by the quiet undertone 

Of laughing waves I sit and dream. 

My heart with grateful homage filled, 
To Him, whose universal love, 

His wide domain with beauty filled ; 
The earth beneath, the sky above. 

134 



For even winter's leafless bower, 
The beauty of the fields and hills, 

The glory of the evening hour, 
The heart with admiration fills. 

Even the humblest life may know 
Its quiet pathway still secure, 

And the world's purest joys may flow 
For them, the lowly and obscure. 

The beauty of the budding spring. 
The sweetness of the summer's bloom, 

The gorgeous hues the autumns bring : 
And winter's shroud upon the tomb. 



The flowers which deck the woods and fields, 
The song-bird's carol in the grove, 

With every charm that Nature yields 
To those who own her rule of love : 

All these alike to high and low ! 

The rich and poor may equal share 
These gifts the hands of God bestow 

In bounty, free as light and air ! 

I thank Thee Lord ! that thus we find 
Thy blessings reach the poor and lowly, 

And weak or lame, or halt or blind, 
Invoke Thy Fatherhood, most holy. 

And when we cross the swelling tide. 
Called by the great death-angel o'er. 

If through the power of Him who died 
For us, we reach the "Shining Shore", 

'Twill not be asked, if less or more 
Of wealth the partecj soul possessed ; 

But those, the rich in faith and love 
Of God, shall enter into rest. 

135 



NEARING THE SHORE. 

1887. 



Sarah Edgerton, a sister of the writer, after a protracted 
illness, died Second Month 16th, 1887, in the twenty-seventh 
year of her age. One of her last expressions, before the 
delirium which preceded death clouded her outwearied brain, 
was, "I think my frail barque is nearing the Other Shore." 

Frail barque upon life 's troubled seas ! 

Tossing amid the billow's foam, 
Thy sails are filling with the breeze 

That bears the storm-tost vessel home ! 

Thy prow is toward the distant shore, 

Thy Pilot at the yielding helm, 
The tempest shall not harm thee more, 

Nor the dark breakers overwhelm. 

Safely outriding every gale 

Of doubt and fear, that sink and swell, 

We watch on thy receding sail 
Each fluttering signal of farewell, 

Till the eternal clouds, that hide 
The unseen from our finite view, 

A moment seems to roll aside 

To let thy snowy sail sweep through 

Into the calm and tranquil bay, 

The haven of eternal rest. 
Where Heaven's own fleets at anchor lay 

Amid the ' ' Islands of the Blest. ' ' 

Where breaking on the golden strand 
The spray of crystal waves is cast; 

Thy keel hath touched the shining sand, 
Thy weary voyage ends at last ! 

And there, above the dark distress 

At which we weep with downcast eyes. 

Thy angel feet, sweet sister, press 
The flowery shores of Paradise ! 

136 



REUNION. 



Written for, and read at the Edgerton reunion, 
Barnesville, Ohio, 1893. 

Oh, kindred ! underneath these skies, 
Which in their autumn glory bend 

Above our native hills, that rise, 
Sun-kissed, around us, we extend 
A greeting warm, to kin and friend ! 



"We meet to-day, and would renew 
Upon this spot our youthful prime, • 

Reviving memories fond and true, 
Which in the Lethean urn of Time 
Lay hidden from our outward view. 



Return, oh tide of years, to-day ! 

And bring my boyhood back to me ! 

The bright days, passing slow away, 
Full of the promised joys to be. 
The mirage of Life's open sea! 



Again a child with flaxen hair, 
I gaze upon the earth and sky, 

Seeing through the transparent air, 
New beauty in the fields that lie 
Outspread before my charmed eye. 



Again the sunward slopes I see. 

Starred with the violet's eyes of blue, 

The sweet banks of anemone. 

The dells wherein the lilies blew, 
With crystal waters sparkling through. 

137 



Again I list the blue-bird 's song, 

The swallows twittering from the eaves 

Of the old barn of logs, where long 
Ago, we stored the summer sheaves, 
The barn among the orchard leaves ! 

T watch the purpling clusters hang 
Upon the vines. Again I see. 

From boughs whereon the oriole sang. 
The luscious fruit hang temptingly, 
As childhood's eyes alone can see. 

Again I note the squirrel 's leap 

From bough to bough, the chipmunk's call, 

With boyish zest I toss the heap 
Of fallen leaves, and see through all, 
The spots whereon the brown nuts fall. 

I stoop once more beside the brink 
Of yonder spring, whose crystal flow 

Reflected as I bent to drink, 
A boyish face so long ago, — 
Aye I more than forty years ago ! 

And here, beside the old hearthstone, 
Toil-worn, or weary from our play. 

We gathered, when the sun had gone. 
And the last embers of the day 
Burned from the western hills away. 

Ah ! tender memories gather here, 
Unbidden floods of thought sweep o'er 

My brain. Forgive the falling tear! 
'Tis holy ground ! I pass the door, 
And tread with unshod feet the floor. 

Here, breaking on my ravished ears 
At even-tide, my mother calls 

Again as in tlie vanished years; 
My father's voice in blessing falls 
Sweetly thro' mem'ries sounding halls. 

138 



In these familiar rooms I see 
Dear faces of the long ago, 

And like ethereal minstrelsy, 
I hear, in gentle cadence flow. 
Their speech, in accents soft and low. 

Again beneath the attic roof 

I seek my childhood's humble bed, 

And woven in the warp and woof 

Of dreams, full many a magic thread 
Of light illumes the sky o 'erhead. 

But not the joys of life alone. 
Came to us in the passing years: 

God sent affliction, and the moan 
Of suffering, and the tide of tears. 
With alternating hopes and fears. 

But God is good and kind, we know, 
Unto His own; He knoweth best, 

And when our feet too weary grow, 
He gently beckons to our rest 
Within the mansions of the blest. 

And though the grave hath claimed its own. 
And time and fate have opened wide 

The gates of change, and overthrown, 
The idols of our love, and pride, 
Lie desolate the grave beside ; 

Yet in the circle of the years. 
Our blessings overtop our woe, 

And^ through the rainbow of our tears, 
We see the sun of evening throw' 
Its glory on the earth below. 

And through its golden mists we see 
Sweet glimpses of the life to come. 

Of the Reunion yet to^be 

When Night shall bring the children home 
And Death shall turn the silent key. 

139 



ONLY A TRAMP. 



Only a tramp ! in the glare and heat 
Of the summer sun in the dusty street. 



Only a tramp ! with a dingy pack, 

And a threadbare coat on his weary back. 



Only a tramp ! and soiled and brown, 
He made his way through the busy town. 



Only a tramp ! and wealth and pride 
Looked, and passed on the other side 



And childhood paused in its merry play, 
And shrank from the passing form away. 



Only a tramp, the housewife said. 

As she turned away from his plea for bread 



Only a tramp, but he felt the smart 

Of the taunting words, in his human heart. 



And bitterly sighing, he turned again 
To his heartless journey, and life of pain. 

But there where the railway meets the street, 
Was stayed the tide of passing feet. 



And horror palsied the bravest limb. 
And eyes with fruitless tears were dim, 



140 



For a truant baby boy had strayed 

To the railroad track, and calmly played 

Between the rails, with the pebbles white. 
Piling them up in the sweet sunlight, 

And the fast express was thundering down 
At fearful speed through the busy town. 

Fruitless the driver's skill to stay 
The flying train on its headlong way. 

Fruitless the shrill alarm to fright 
The little one from his pebbles white. — 

But out from the crossing of the street 
Dashes a man with flying feet ; 

Each silent watcher held his breath, 
In that fearful race for life or death. 

Till the truant babe was safely thrown 
Beyond the rails as the train swept on. 



The child was safe, but rods away 
Bleeding and lifeless, the rescuer lay 



Only a tramp ! but forever new 

Is our love for manhood brave and true 



And the mother, that night, who fondly prest 
The living child to her grateful breast, 

Will ne'er forget, as the seasons roll. 
That hungry tramp with a hero's soul! 

141 



MAKE ME PURE WITHIN. 
1890. 



In the tumult and the strife, 
Of a busy, struggling life. 
Night and morning, everywhere 
Be this thought my humble prayer, 
' ' Cleanse from word or thought of sin. 
Make and keep me pure within." 

In the office or the mill. 
Let this thought be with me still, 
In my intercourse with men 
In my words of tongue or pen. 
Hold my life aloof from sin. 
Make and keep me pure within ! 

In the great world's busy mart. 
Be this thought my sailor chart, 
Lest my feeble footsteps stray 
From Thy straight and narrow way; 
Let me, as a jewel, bear 
In my heart this simple prayer. 

When with weary feet I turn 
Where the social watchfires burn 
On the cherished hearth of home, 
Let this inspiration come 
Like a benediction still, 
Sanctifying heart and will. 

Father ! point my onward way, 
Hold my hand from day to day. 
Grant me for my soul's defense. 
Strength from Thy Omnipotence, 
Through the world beset with sin, 
' ' Make and keep me pure within ! ' * 



142 




ICE HOUNU 



Far south the sun rose, and his rays 
Kindled the treetops in a blaze 
Of glory which the artist's skill 
May never copy. On the hill 
The forest trees were bending low, 
With burnished silver all aglow 

(See Poem). 



ICE-BOUND. 

1892. 



First Month 15th, 1892. 

Our Whittier sang of Snow-Bound, 

And tuned his touching lays 
To the rhythm of the old time, 

And simple country ways ; 
Be mine the humble duty, — 

The theme as grand and true, 
To tell of Nature ice-bound. 

This year of Ninety-Two. 



'Twas winter, and the fallen snow 
Was white on wood and field ; the glow 
Of evening faded into night. 
Yet not to darkness, for the light 
Of the full moon came drifting down 
In slumb'rous waves upon the town. 
Not the clear silver glow that seems 
The ideal moonlight of our dreams, 
But tangled in the murky bars 
Of haze and mist, that quite shut out 
The twinkling of the silent stars, 
But compensating, wove about 
The moon's pale face an aureole 
Fresh from Refraction's mystic hand. 
Which Nature's children understand 
Portends the coming of the storm. 

143 



Down the long streets the serried ranks 

Of incandescent lamps aglow, 
Flung out their dazzling rays, that fell 

In sparkling whiteness on the snow ; 
And falling from the maple boughs 

Which in the chill wind swing and sway, 
The moving shadows, sharp and dark. 

On pavement and on sidewalk lay; 
While darkly rising high aloof 
Were ghostly spire and spectral roof. 

And thus the night came down. The wind 

Was moaning fitfully without; 

Within, the cheerful hearth about, 

Is gathered from the toil and care 

Of the world's tasks, its work and wear, 

The members of the liousehold band. — 

Happy the man for whom the night 

Brings rest and comfort, and the bright 

Enjoyment of the social life 

Of home, where mother, sister, wife 

Or children, sanctify and bless 

His lot with love and tenderness. — 

When morning woke the world again 
From slumber, on the window pane 
We heard the music of the rain. 
The patter of the tiny feet. 
And solemn voices of the sleet. 

And thus all day the clouds that hung 
Low over wood and field and town. 

From out their folds of darkness flung 
Their wealth of liquid droplets down, 

Which, freezing as they fell, became 

Of other form and other name. 



144 



The day of darkness and of rain, 
Without a glimpse of sun or sky- 
To cheer its brevity, went by, 

And brought the silent night again. 

So pass our days of sorrow, 

So come our nights of tears, 
But we find that God's tomorrow 

Is brighter than our fears. 
And we find the cherished sweetness, 

And the ecstasy of life, 
Are following up the bitterness, 

The anguish and the strife. 
And Heaven's angelic anthem 

The discord of our life. 

So when the morrow came again, 
Forgotten was the gloom and rain; 
We only saw the beauty spread 
Around, beneath, and overhead ! 

Far south the sun rose, and his rays 
Kindled the tree-tops in a blaze 
Of glory which the artist's skill 
May never copy. On the hill 
The forest trees were bending low, 
With burnished silver all aglow ! 
Upon the nearer shrubs and trees 
The icy sheathing hung, and these 
With hues prismatic greet the eye. 
Like those that arch the summer sky. 

E'en the unsightly weeds that grew 
Upon the roadside, now became 
The peers in fact, if not in name 

Of lily white, or violet blue. 

145 



Icicles from the eaves o'erhead 

Hung like a thousand crystal spears, 
Forged by the Frost King from the tears 

The dark and pitying clouds had shed. 

The drifts of snow, beside the road. 
In beauteous forms and bold designs. 
With sweeping curves and graceful lines, 

In the same brilliant armor, glowed. 

Poles on the street-side in the sun 
Stand glistening, and the wires that run 
From post to post, like ropes of glass, 

Through which the electric currents play, 
Catch up the sunbeams as they pass 

And fling them glorified away. 

Such lavish beauty everywhere ! 

Such loveliness of field and wood ! 
Even the pure transparent air 
Seems throbbing with the voiceless prayer 

Of Nature in her reverent mood ! 

Teach me. Oh ! Father, more to see 

That all the beautiful and grand 
In nature, speak aloud of Thee, 

And gladly own Thy forming hand. 
That all the sparkling gems of light. 
That dance and glitter in our sight, 
Ruby and sapphire, that a king 
Might envy. Thou alone could bring 
To grace the shining earth today. 
And make more beautiful and sweet 
The pathway for Thy glorious feet. 

146 



THE RAILROAD WRECK. 

1892. 



Out in the storm of the winter night, 
Bounding on in its headlong flight, 
With trundling wheels on the iron way, 
Wildly urged by the piston's play, 
Throbbing and panting, with hiss and roar, 
Speeding each minute a mile or more, 
Through the frosty air and drifting snow, 
Was the night express on the B. and 0. 

Within the coaches, all warm and bright. 

Lying, reclining, or bolt upright. 

The sleeping passengers dreamed away 

The hours that carried them on their way. 

But there, as the train swept 'round a curve. 

Thrilling with horror his brain and nerve. 

Full on the eye of the engineer 

Burst a coming headlight, bright and clear ! 

A click of levers, a rush of steam. 
The wild alarm of the whistle 's scream. 
And wheels reversed, but all too late 
To save the train from its fearful fate ! 
A crash ! a shock ! and the piteous cries 
Of pain went up to the midnight skies ! 
And shout and curse, and moan and prayer. 
Strangely blent on the shuddering air : 
And over all this horror there came 
Roaring and crackling, the pitiless flame ; 
Till the heavens, aglow with lurid light 
Seemed bending in pity over the sight 
Of so much anguish in one sad night ! 



147 



But why this wreck, with its loss untold 

Of treasure counted in paltry gold ? 

With the wringing hands and bitter tears, 

And wounds that the heart must bear for years? 

With its score of human beings lost 

In that night's terrible holocaust? 

Why that train on the railway track? 

Only the meaningful word comes back, 

' ' Drunken ! ' ' Alas ! but sadly true ! 

A railway train with a drunken crew ! 

Oh rum ! thou demon of crime and sin ! 
Curse of the age we are living in! 
When will the nation arise and draw 
Over thy traffic the ban of law? 
When will the people who bow to thee 
Rise in their manhood, and dare be free? 
God will rebuke thee ! welcome the day 
That rolls the weight of thy curse away. 




148 



VOCAL WINDS. 

1893. 



As I sit within my room, 
In the twilight's deepening gloom, 
While the autumn wind without 
Flings the withered leaves about; 
At my doorway shrieking, sighing, 
With a sad and plaintive crying 
Do I hear it. 

The wild spirit 
Of the wind. 

Oh ! the voices of the wind ! 
Oh ! the music that we find ! 
In its wild and reckless playing. 
In the sobbing and the swaying. 
In the treble and the droning, 
In the weird and solemn moaning, 
In the moaning. 

And the droning 
Of the wind. 



Sweet the notes, to him who listens, 
As the dew of springtime glistens. 
On the earth grown warm and tender 
In the season's vernal splendor; 
With her balmy lips confessing 
To the rhythm and the blessing ; 
To the blessing. 
And caressing 
Of the wind. 



149 



And the summer, full of sweetness, 
Full of Nature's own completeness. 
Smiles to catch the soft refrain 
Of the wind among the grain. 
Of the fragrance-laden breeze. 
And its music in the trees, 
Trembling ever, 
To the quaver 
Of the wind. 



And the autumn, grov/ing old. 

In his robes of red and gold, 

Hears the low and stifled moan 

Of the wind's sad monotone, 

And the brown leaves downward flying, 

Hears them rustle to the sighing, 

To the sighing, 

And the crying 
Of the wind. 



And like a monarch on his throne, 
The winter, sad and hoary grown, 
Still joys to hear the north wind sweep 
'er snowy hill and stormy deep ; 
Joys in the melodies that find 
Voice in the howling of the wind ; 
In the howling, 

And the growling 
Of the wind. 



Thus the seasons tell the glory, 
And the winged winds the story. 
How their notes of music fall 
Earth-ward from the Lord of all, 
As He touches heaven's own keys, 
Waking wondrous harmonies. 
And rejoices, 
In the voices 

Of the wind ; 

150 



Like an echo from the past, 
When through God 's creation vast, 
Burst the song through heaven that rang 
When the stars together sang. 
And the echo seems to float, 
Like some stray Eolian note, 
Still ringing, 
And singing 

In the wind. 



QUAKERISM. 



A poem written for a meeting of the "Wilbur Union, 
one year after its organization. 

He, in whose sight, a thousand years 
Are but as yesterday, when it is past. 
Has in the swift procession of the days. 
Brought us again into the month 
Of singing birds, and blooming flowers. 
Filling for us, the circle of the year. 

And as we stand upon the threshold 
Of the new and the untried, our feet. 
Unsteady, falter, and our thoughts 
Anxiously question of the coming year, 
Its duties and its possibilities. 

Inspired by hope we turn the page, 
Trusting His Providence who holds 
The key to all success, to crown 
Our feeble efforts, that our aim 
May be the strengthening of the walls 
About our Quaker faith ; may be 
The awakening of an. interest 
Warmer and deeper, in the truths 
Our fathers taught us; Fox and Penn, 

151 



Pennington, Barclay, and Parnell, 

And Burroughs, — many more whose names 

Are household words, whose suffering 

And undaunted courage in the right 

At last outwearied persecution. 

And bequeathed to us the legacy 

Of freedom in religious faith. 



How do the lives and consecration 
Of those strong, earnest men and women, 
Co-workers in equality, devoted 
To the Master's service, shame our lack 
Of zeal ! How weak and indolent 
Our lives, while still the fields are white 
Unto the harvest! Why this failure? 
Since our greatest happiness depends 
Upon obedience to the call Divine? 
When for the smallest service done 
In His own name, God doth reward 
So richly? Hath the world more charms 
Than Heaven? Or would we willingly 
Barter our birthright for a trifle? 
Like the son of Isaac, who afterward 
Sought vainly and with tears, the blessing 
Forfeited and lost. Or would we see 
The Church forsake the lofty plane 
Of its pure spiritual teaching, 
And abandon the sweetly solemn 
Thought of the Divine indwelling? 
The true baptism and communion 
Of the Spirit? The faithful walking 
With God, personal, everpresent? 



No, no ! The world still greatly needs 

The influence of our Quaker faith ! 

Its teaching must not yet be lost 

On the high levels of religious thought ! — 

The vantage ground from which the sunshine 

Of Eternal truth, reflected, falls 

Upon the valleys, touching all 

The world of thought with added glory ! 

152 



To-day we need, as much as e'er before, 
The spiritual touch, and fellowship 
Of Christ ; The broad and comprehensive 
Plan of His salvation, free to all! 
And these, our faith is teaching still; 
And as our lives are brought under 
The sweet control of Christ's pure love 
'Twill beautify our thoughts and acts, 
Ennobling every heart wherein it dwells, 
And touching every life with which 
It comes in contact, with new beauty. 

Thus our daily lives may preach anew 
The gospel of the SAVIOR. Thus again 
The light of Quakerism, brighter shine ! 
Thus may our second year excel the first 
In humble service which the Lord may own 
And may our eyes attentive look to Him 
For guidance in the path our feet should go. 



DISARMAMENT. 



Written upon hearing of the promulgation of the call for a 
"World's Peace Conference." 

Hark ! from the Northland issue joyful notes, 
A prophecy of glad days yet to be ! 
Let all the bells from their resounding throats 
Ring in the glory of earth's jubilee! 

Peoples and Nations reaching forth their hands. 
To hail the time when War's red scourge shall cease ! 
God speed the day when ruFers of all lands 
Shall greet the reign of universal peace ! 

1S3 



Aye! greet the glad day that the prophet saw, 
When nation shall no longer strive with nation ! 
When Right and Truth are moulded into law, 
In the high courts of legal arbitration ! 

May the Peace Congress of the world relieve 
The throes of nations and their fierce unrest ! 
Bridle their petty jealousies, and weave 
Some fragrant garlands for the world's opprest! 

And may the Prince of Peace therein preside ! 
And teach again the love he taught before ! 
Rebuke the lust of power, the vaunt of pride, 
Revive the brotherhood of man once more ! 

The children of a common Father, we, 
In the great family of nations, stand ! 
May God forgive us that so blind we be, 
His plans of mercy not to understand ! 

Forgive us ! that our human hearts, so long 
Inured to scenes of blood should cruel grow ! 
Nor shudder at Cyclopean wrong 
Of war, with all its train of crime and woe ! 

War ! that in with 'ring storms of shot and shell, 
Upon the land or on the boundless seas, 
Has spread destruction, like the breath of hell, 
Down the long vista of the centuries ! 

How long it takes the world to understand ! 
Aye ! all these nineteen hundred years of grace. 
The force of Christ's disarmament command 
''Put up thy sword again into its place." 



Put up your swords ! Oh nations of the world ! 
Hush the wild war-cry, and the cannon's roar! 
May the near future see your war flags furled, 
And Peace enthroned on every peopled shore I 

154 



HOW BEAUTIFUL TO BE WITH GOD. 



Last words of Frances E. Willard. 

"How beautiful to be with God ! with God !" 
Cried the lone watcher, from the gloom of night, 
As the first dawning of" the eternal morning, 
Touched, e'en earth's shadows, with its glorious light. 

"How beautiful to be with God!" What visions 
Of Heaven's fruition opened to the eyes 
Of the sweet spirit, passing to inherit 
One of those many mansions in the skies ! 

What visions broad and full and satisfying 

To every longing of the Christian soull 

Unfailing joy, pleasure without alloy. 

And Christ's sweet love to circumscribe the whole! 

What vistas of eternal verdure lying 
Beyond our ken, allure the pilgrim feet ! 
What bursts of song and rapture surge along 
The countless archways of the golden street! 

Pass in, dear, tired one ! through the open portals 
Loose thy worn sandals, lay thy burden down ! 
Past the cross-bearing : comes the bliss of wearing 
The aureole of Heaven, the starrj'' crown. 

No more the heart-ache, and no more the weeping, 
Closed are thine eyes to earth, but full and free 
Prom heavenly hills, with clearer vision sweeping 
The boundless reaches of Eternity ! 

Infinite realms of pleasure and of beauty ! 
Whose shining slopes by angel feet are trod ! 
What harps are ringing, and what voices singing 
"How beautiful to be at home with God"! 

155 



IN STORM AND CALM. 

1895. 



Old ocean, grand and beautiful! 

What varying moods are thine ! 
What changeful glory overspreads 

Thy face, with shade and shine ! 

When the summer days are tranquil, 
And the storm winds are at rest, 

HoM' calmly sail the stately ships 
On thy gently heaving breast ! 

Like a fleecy cloud slow sailing 
On the wave* of the upper deep. 

Its white wings filled with the breezes, 
In their steady onward sweep. 

But when the winds complainingly 

Are moaning to the ocean, 
How instant rise the tossing waves, 

Onsweeping in commotion; 

White crested, hurrying leeward. 
Scourged onward in their wrath. 

How angrily they howl and dash 
About the good ship's path. 

How like a toy the mountain waves 
In their tumultuous sweep, 

Toss the huge ship upon their crest. 
Then fling it in the deep. 

Great torrents sweep her upper decks, 
The sea-trough yawns below! 

While on the steamer's side the waves 
Smite with terrific blow. 



156 



But the good ship reeling, staggering, 
Through storm-swept night and day, 

Obedient to her helm, bears on 
Her own unerring way ! 

Thanks to the human skill that guides 
Our pathway through the sea, 

Whether in storm or calm, holds on 
Her course, unerringly ; 

But greater thanks to Him who holds 

On sea, or on the land, 
The destinies of men and worlds 

In the hollow of His hand ! 



A WEDDING LETTER. 



To a niece. 

Dear Eva, 

On thy wedding day 
Thou wilt forgive me as I pray 
From a full heart of love, that He 
Who graced the feast in Galilee 
May at thy marriage too, preside. 
And not alone upon that day. 
But all along thy future way . 
His love within thy heart abide ; 
His. presence on thy pathway shine. 
Turning life's water into wine, 
Walking forever at thy side. 

Thus in the struggle and the strife 

That crowd into a busy life. 

Over the weariness and pain 

Of tingling nerves and aching brain. 

Over the tempests of dismay, 

Of doubt and darkness, when the day 

157 



Seems big with sorrow, then His voice, 
Bidding the trembling heart rejoice, 
Will echo through the spirit's halls. 
And as of old, the heart will thrill 
With rapture, as His "Peace, be still," 
Like a sweet benediction falls. 

I cannot ask for you the boon 

Of happiness, without alloy. 
Else Heaven would have no charm, and soon, 
Like day declining at its noon. 

Would fade away from life, the joy. 
But may your happiness consist 

In loving and in doing good 
For love's sweet sake, till Duty's list 

Is filled completely. So I would 
Wish only for so much of shine, 
As seemeth in the plan Divine, 
To be the best for you ; the rain 
Is just as needful, and the pain 
And weariness of life may be 
Our sweetest blessings. Then may we. 
In simple faith, our burdens bear, 
And walking with the Lord in prayer, 
Know day by day his guiding hand, 
Leading us to the Better Land. 

Could I crave more for you than this? 
More nearly unalloyed bliss? 
Than when the human passion thrills 
Two hearts, more tender and complete, 
By sitting at the Master's feet. 
Adorned by the Christ-love- that fills 
The soul and spreading outward gives 
Sweet influence to other lives. 

Oh ! may this influence sanctified 
Be yours, as onAvard, side by side, 
You tread life's journey, until Heaven 
Be gained, tlie crown be given. 
Until your rich reward be won 
In the Lord 's answer of ' ' Well done ' '. 



158 



VALEDICTORY.— Class of '95. 



Today, in expectation standing 
Upon the foothills of the greater height 
To which we turn, where, wide expanding, 
New vistas open to our wondering sight. 
New fields of usefulness, new hills of light ! 

And, pausing thus, we catch with eager ears, 
The swelling strains of hope, that sweetly blend 
With the glad prophecy of coming years. 
That sunny skies above our paths may bend. 
And all success our forward steps attend. 

But as our asking eyes instinctive turn 

Unto the future, in hot tears they swim ; 

For though we catch the gleam of hopes that burn 

Within the shadows, indistinct and dim, 

As our eyes sweep the far horizon's rim. 

Yet to the past we fondly cling. Again 

Would live our happy school days o'er with you 

Dear friends ! today. Would catch the sweet refrain 

Of old familiar voices, glad and true. 

And in this hour our friendship would renew. 

Would grasp again each kindly hand 
Outheld to us, and we would gladly own 
The many obligations that must stand 
Forever to your credit; not alone 
The service rendered, but the kindness shown. 

The ready sympathy, the cheerful word, 

The hearty helpfulness along the way 

So freely given, our hearts hg,ve often stirred 

To greater effort, and the broader play 

Of powers, outreaching to the brighter day. 

159 



For thee our Alma Mater, we would crave 

Rich blessings from our Father's open hand; 

Send forth thy sons and daughters, strong and brave, 

To take their places in our busy land, 

Equipped by thee for right and truth to stand ! 

And for the Faculty whose loving care 
Has watched and guarded, amid hopes and fears ; 
In grateful love we breathe the silent prayer 
That Heaven may strengthen for the future years, 
May bless your labors, and may dry your tears ! 

But one of you is not !* Her tears are dried, 
Her labors o 'er. For her the eternal rest. 
Sadly we miss her, but we must abide 
The trial, trustful that God knew the best 
In calling to the Mansions of the Blest. 



May you forget the evil said and done, 
Forgive our follies and our failings. Strive 
In charity to think of battles won 
O'er wrong and selfishness, and keep alive 
Remembrance of the Class of Ninety Five. 

And school-mates all ! with hearts that overflow, 

We turn to you, desiring that the sum 

Of happiness' and usefulness may go 

With you ; that wrong, and crime, and sin be dumb 

Before you, till the end of life shall come. 

Go forth into the world ! So strive, so live. 
That future years some good of you may tell ! 
Love God and all mankind, and often give 
A kindly thought to us who say farewell ! 
Teachers, and schoolmates, and kind friends, fare- 
well! 



*Eeferring to the death of Lucinda Bailey, one of the 
valued teachers. 

16D 



VALEDICTORY.— Class of '99. 

CLASS MOTTO 



With the ropes of the past, ring the bells of the future. 

We stand today, with foreheads bare, 

Upon the threshold of the dim 

And untried Future, and with brows 

Fanned by the gentle airs that blow 

Upon us from the misty hills 

And sun-kissed valleys; with the light 

Of hope descending from the heights 

And reaches of the Unattained, 

We turn our faces forward, earnestly 

Seeking to know and fill our place " 

In the world's round of business. 

And among its busy workers. 

We would not loiter in the race 

Of life, but struggling on, would aim 

To do and be something worth while 

The living; and gathering up 

Rich treasures from the hoary Past, 

Would make of them the ropes with which 

To ring the Future 's sounding bells ! 

May we, for our example, take 
The character of Christ the Lord ! 
And with His Golden Rule to teach, 
His ever present Light to guide, 
Our feet may safely press the path 
Of life, that leads, we know not where ; — 
So thick the curtain that God hangs 
Between the unknown and the known. 

But standing at the outer door. 
That guards our school life here, 
We pause a moment, and with eyes 
Suffused with tears, must say adieu ! 

161 



We love our Alma Mater ! From 
Its halls, regretfully we turn 
To other scenes, unknown, untried — 
Unto the Faculty, whose care and help 
And helpful guidance, have been like 
A tower of strength, in which to trust, 
We would express — but here words fail 
To tell the thanks we feel. 

Accept 
In lieu, the love we fain would speak. — 
And schoolmates ! unto you we owe 
A debt of gratitude, too great 
Thus to discharge. Your loving words 
And kindly, helpful deeds, cheerful 
Companionship, and kindred thoughts. 
Have like an inspiration been. 
Which we cannot forget. 

Backward 
Our glances turn today, upon 
The paths which we have hither trod. 
Joys we have had, and also griefs 
Together borne. With you we mourned 
The bright young life, which in its morn 
Of promise, faded and went out 
Among us ; to be rekindled. 
As we trust, in greater glory 
In the Better World. 

But the time 
Of parting hastens ! Brokenly 
We say farewell ! For in the years 
To come, we may drift wide apart. 
And 'mid the world's devious ways 
See little of each other. Yet 



162 



We crave for us and you, the boon 
Of mutual remembrance ! Soon 
In the swift circling of the years 
Will come life's eventide. Oh! then 
As on its western slope, still rests 
The glory of its setting sun; — 
As through the Golden Gates, ajar, 
Float the sweet echoes of the bells 
Of God ! Oh ! may we meet again, 
A glad, united, and unbroken band. 
And hold our great Reunion 
On the shining hills of Heaven! 



THE BEST OF FRIENDS. 

1901. 



How sweet to feel that we have a Friend, 

All-seeing and Omniscient, 
Whose help and power, in every hour 

Of trial are sufficient. 

How sweet to know and feel this Friend 

Is ever-watching o'er us. 
And to feel and say, "the same rough way 

His feet have trod before us". 

How sweet to feel that though our days 

AVith sorrow are redundant, 
Yet His sweet peace, as the sad hours cease, 

Is recompense abundant. 

And whether the day be dark or bright, 
Whether rough or smooth the road. 

If the Best of Friends our way attends, 
His help will ease the greatest load. 

163 



Others may fail us, our human friends 
May turn away in the hour of need ; 

But our "Elder Brother", than any other 
Is safer, truer, a Friend indeed ! 

And though, sometimes, we may sadly say, 
As our faith grows weak, and so dim, 

"They have hid away my Lord today, 

And I know not where they have laid Him. ' ' 

Yet the morning light will surely come. 

Oh ! then sad heart never fear. 
Though the night be long, the morning song 

Is "The risen Christ is here." 



And now in the spirit's equipoise. 

Though our eyes be dim with weeping, 

'Tis sweet to know, that the ebb and flow, 
Are still in the Master's keeping. 

Then whether in daytime or at night, 
In His secret presence hiding, 

May we ever find, with quiet mind, 
The place of a safe abiding. 

Oh ! then, dear Lord, may we ever stand 
On the watch tower, day by day. 

For the way is long, the foes are strong 
That are haunting the onward way. 

But Thou art stronger than all our foes ! 

Thou art kinder than all our fears ! 
And we beg to stand at Thy right hand 

In the struggle of the years ! 

In the struggle of the years to come. 
With Heaven to be lost or won ! 

Give grace, we pray, for every day. 
And a crown when the days are done. 

164 



THE TEMPTATION. 

1904. 



Alone in the great wilderness 

Of Judah, forty days and nights, 

The world's Redeemer sadly passed, 

In patient learning of the long 

And weary human lessons, fraught 

With the more trying things of life, 

Which in unerring Wisdom were 

To make the dear Christ perfect, through 

The suffering which it cost Him. 

There, among the hoary mountains. 
And the bleak and blackened rocks, 
He wandered. Alone the wild beasts 
Of the desert watched His steps 
With curious hungry eyes, but stopped 
And slunk away, and hid themselves 
Deep in their lairs, as when the day 
Breaks o'er the eastern hills, hiding 
The stars, and hushing all the voices 
Of the night; so fled the desert 
Fauna from the fearless presence 
Of the humble Nazarene. Only 
The angels keeping guard by day 
And night, sustained and strengthened 
Him in His deep loneliness. 

Alone ? Ah no ! Satan was there, 
And with his wily, cruel presence 
Followed the Master's steps. Morning 
And noon and night, the Tempter's voice 
Was in His ears, and, skillfully, 
The Arch-Deceiver, then as now. 
Aimed his temptations at the point 
Of possible weakness.^ But not 
On human weakness fell the bolt 
Of strong temptation. High defense 

165 



Was there! Useless the devil's wiles, 

Even his lying promises 

Of glory, wealth and power fell 

Harmless on the immaculate soul 

Of Christ ! And when He turned His eyes 

Full of reproach, and grief, and scorn 

On him, the Tempter writhed and fled 

Before the stern rebuke He gave, 

"Get thee behind me." 

Weary one, 
Sad and disheartened, with thy faith 
Failing, because the Tempter seeks 
Thy soul, take courage ! Turn thine eyes 
To Christ, who dared the weary days 
And tedious nights of that dark 
Wilderness, that He might become 
The victor o'er temptation, and 
Succor the tried and tempted ones, 
Who come in faith to Him. 

His grace 
And sovereign mercy can dispel 
The clouds of doubt, and can rebuke 
The sin, or great or small, that like 
A hideous nightmare haunts thee. 

Not in vain the Lord 's temptation ! 

The perch upon the temple's spire. 

The glorious outlook from the top 

"Of the high mountain". These led up 

To the more lofty heights whereon 

Crowned with love Divine, and with 

His great heart filled with pity. 

And with infinite sympathy 

For mankind in times of trial, 

Or temptation, or affliction, 

Is Jesus Christ our one High Priest, 

Standing before the great assize 

Of Heaven, our Intercessor, 

Our Advocate with the Great Judge 

At His tribunal bar on high. 



THE LOG-BOOK.* 

1904. 



At sea with a chart and compass, 

And the arching sky o'erhead, 
AYith the outward breezes blowing, 

With all her canvas spread, 
Our school like a good ship sailing 

Outward and ever away, 
Must heed the hand of the pilot 

On her helm by night and day. 

But what of chart or compass. 

Or the breezes blowing free, 
Unless we know where we would go, 

Our pathway through the sea? 
The Captain turns to his log-book, 

And his way is plain and clear. 
His records run, from sun to sun. 

And his course is written there. 

So we today, in our log-book, 

Are keeping a record true. 
Of our whereabouts, our ins and outs, 

Of the things we say and do, 
The course we take, the distance gone. 

The points where the rocks abound, 
Our latitude, and longitude, 

In the log-book may be found. 

So read the compass and the chart, 

Record our speed and bearing, 
Map out the way, that others may 

Be safer for our faring ; 
That others may, in years to come 

From it, fresh lessons borrow. 
The skill of hand, the strength to stand 

In many a dark tomorrow. 

*The ' ' Log Book ' ', was the-name of a little paper pub- 
lished by the Whittier Literary Society, for the columns of 
which this little poem was written. 

167 



MONTHLY MEETING.' 

1904. 



This little poem was written while at the Boarding School, 

at Barnesville, in answer to one with the same 

title written by one of the students. 

The story of Monthly Meeting, 

And the Olney student's ways, 
Was told by the author neatly, 

And in rich poetic phrase ; 
And we much enjoyed the picture. 

And the memories it may bring. 
But perhaps a shade too sombre. 

Was the artist's coloring. 

Perhaps he saw the gloomy side, 

Be mine to show the bright one. 
Be yours, dear friends, when both are seen. 

To choose and hold the right one. 
Perhaps both views may help us reach 

Our definite objective; 
Perhaps both views may help bring out 

The meeting's true perspective. 

Be sure the meeting house is plain. 

Also the Friends who meet us. 
But a kindly face, and pleasant word 

Are very sure to greet us. 
And many an earnest wish is felt. 

As the coming Friends are seating 
On the long benches, that the Lord 

May bless our Monthly Meeting. 

168 



And in this quiet time and place, 

Though some in the meeting hour, 
Through sleep neglect the means of grace, 

And miss the Spirit's power 
To lift the mind from earthly things. 

To a quiet meditation 
On the love Divine, that ever brings 

Joy in its contemplation ; 

Yet many souls that gathered there. 

The Father's name confessing, 
Through the Savior's help, and silent prayer. 

Received the promised blessing. — 
The hush of the silent hour, to them 

Pregnant with thought and feeling. 
Is touching the Master's garment hem, 

And His precious hands of healing. 

For some a time of strife and pain, 

A struggle with self and sin, 
Till "get thee behind me" comes again 

From the voice that speaks within. — 
The tempter leaves; and there baptized 

With love from the healing Fountain, 
Is the waiting soul transfigured quite, 

With Christ alone on the mountain. 

In the humble life of the Christian, 

An hour like this is sweet; 
To steal away from the busy world, 

And sit at the Master's feet. 
To hear His words in the soul's ear. 

And to feel the glad surcease 
Of the tossings of the billows. 

At His gentle word of peace. 

169 



And so while sleep has fettered some, 

In the hour so still and fleeting, 
Others have better and stronger grown 

From the service of the meeting: 
Hearts grown brave and true again. 

In the silence that came o'er us, 
To battle on in the stress and strain, 

In the path of life before us. 



THE HERO OF FREDERICKSBURGH. 

1904. 



'Twas on the field of Fredericksburg ! 

And the battle's fiery breath 
Was hot all day, and hundreds lay. 

At night, on the field of death ; 
But the darkness brought no respite, 

For the deadly guns roared on, 
Filling Avith fright, the terrible night. 

From dusk till the break of dawn. 



And still the shells were screaming, 

And the awful leaden rain, 
Was sweeping still, from hill to hill, 

Over the maimed and the slain ; 
And the lurid clouds of battle 

Hung heavy and dense o'erhead, 
And there, un-nursed, and mad with thirst, 

Lay the wounded with the dead. 

170 



Oh ! the moaning and the groaning ! 

And the cries of wild despair, 
Blended with the cannon's roaring 

To o 'erload the shuddering air ! 
Oh ! the plenitude of sorrow ! 

Oh ! the bitter floods of tears ! — 
Dear, pitying Lord ! what wild discord 

Goes up into Thy ears ! 

Smiting on Richard Kirkland's ears 

Came the anguish of that day! • 
A soldier boy of Fredericksburg, 

In his uniform of gray ; 
And the hero sought his Captain, 

And before his tent he stood, 
Begging to go to friend and foe, 

On that dreadful field of blood, 

With water for the thirsty ones, 

To stanch the wounds that bled, 
With comfort to the dying boys. 

And a tear for those, the dead ! — 
The captain sadly shook his head 

As he slowly answered "No, 
'Twould cost your life, my boy", he said, 

"In that murd'rous fire to go." 

But strong the hero's earnest plea. 

And the captain gave consent. 
And with food and water, over the Avorks, 

This angel of mercy went ; 
And there on the field of slaughter, 

While the deadly missjles flew. 
Unhurt he sped, where duty led, 

To his Christlike mission true. 

171 



Quickly the soldiers saw the deed, 

xVnd the guns upon the hill, 
That swept so long the fatal field, 

In the early day grew still. 
And thus for hours the battle stayed, 

Awed by a deed so bold. 
Till the echoes died, on the mountain side, 

And the cannon's lips grew cold. 

Oh ! would that this brief armistice. 

To eternal peace had grown! 
And the demon of war forever 

Been lost in the dim Unknown! 
That the glorious deed of Kirkland, 

Forever should put to shame 
All who would win, through crime and sin, 

Renown by this Moloch's name. 

Too long War's hateful enginery, 

O'ersweeping field and flood. 
Has filled whole lands with sorrow. 

And deluged earth with blood; 
And the crime of human slaughter 

Where'er its hosts have striven, 
And battle's yell and "smoke of hell" 

Too long have wearied heaven! 

When shall the flags of war be furled? 

Its bellowing thunders cease? 
And all the nations of the world 

Ring in the reign of peace? — 
Too long. has might been held as right, 

In the Council Halls of state ! 
Too long have the ears of Infinite Love 

Been filled with the cries of hate I 

172 



Help us, dear Christ ! to realize 

That thy great, eternal plan, 
Is built on love to God above, 

And love to our brother man ! 
That Thy heart is touched with pity, 

For us, in our huraan pain. 
And that love to Thee, will keep us free 

From the sin and curse of Cain ! 




173 



AUTUMN DAYS. 

1894. 



Oh ! the heauty and the splendor 

Of the glorious autumn days ! 
As the sunshine, warm and tender, 

Streaming through the purple haze. 
Touches all the fields with glory, 

Gilds the valleys sweet and bright, 
Paints the hills, wood-crowned and hoary, 

With a touch of heaven's own light. 

Till the many colored iris. 

Which the hand of nature weaves, 
Carpets all the woodland pathways 

With a garniture of leaves ; 
As the gorgeous hour of sunset. 

Sets the western heavens aglow, 
With a richer, rarer beauty 

Than the mid-day hours may know; 

So the autumn, summer's sunset, 

With its bright and brief days, brings 
Beauty all unknown to summer, 

Or the budding times of spring; 
Richer hues than grace the tropics, 

Set in brown, and red, and gold. 
All ablaze, yet unconsuming. 

Like the "Burning bush" of old. 

Hushed are many cheerful voices, 

Of the summer's happy reign. 
But the passing year rejoices. 

O'er the ripened fields of grain; 
Where the quail's loud call is ringing 

From the stately shocks of corn, 
And the cardinal's sweet singing, 

Wakes the echoes of the morn. 



174 



In the wood the squirrels chatter, 

As they store the brown nuts by, 
And the grackles with their clatter, 

Vocalize both earth and sky. 
And the crow's departing elan-call. 

Summoning for southern flight 
Greets our ears ; the solemn hooting 

Of the owl makes sad the night. 

Lonely too, the cricket's chirping, 

And the katy-did's shrill call. 
And the moaning of the night wind, 

As the trembling leaflets fall, 
But all vibrate to the pulsing 

Of Dame Nature 's heart in tune 
With Beauty, holding carnival, 

'Neath the glorious harvest moon.— 

The seasons all are beautiful, 

Spring, with its lovely floAvers, 
Its greening fields, its feathered choir 

A-song in shady bowers, — 
The summer's breath is fragrant. 

And bedecking hill and plain. 
Wave the graceful flaunting forests, 

And fields of ripening grain. 

And winter too, of sterner mood. 

Is lacking naught of glory, 
With crystal field, and naked wood, 

And snow drifts weird and hoary. 
But still, to me the sweetest days, 

Are those when the skies are clear 
And soft with Indian Summer haze. 

In the autumn of the year. 

175 



VALEDICTORY— CLASS OF '05. 



Swiftly the passing hours have lapsed 
Into the bright, brief days, and these 
In turn merged into weeks, until 
The score is filled, and we to-day 
Pause, standing at the outer threshold, 
Where our ways diverge, and from this 
Vantage point, catch brighter glimpses. 
Broader views, and clearer visions 
Of Life's varied fields. 

The future 
Lies before us with its misty hills 
And sun-kissed valleys ; and the sheen 
And shimmer of the UNATTAINED : whose vistas, 
Indistinct, yet beauteous, open 
Before us; and as hills peep o'er 
Each other, in the glorious field 
Of some bright summer landscape, 
So its freshness and the beauty 
Of its ever changing pictures, 
Like a great kaleidoscope, are 
Luring onward. Ambition, too, 
Is beckoning to us, calling 
Us on to honor, wealth, and fame. 
But well we know her siren voice 
Is oftentimes delusive ; only 
An Ignis Fatuus, hovering o'er 
Destruction's wide and fatal marsh. 

Oh ! may we, with our eyes upon 

The hills, whence cometh all our help, 

Our ears attentive to the voice 

176 



Of Christ the Lord, within the soul, 
Our hands touched with the cunning 
Of the Artisan of Nazareth, 
Go forth into Life's manifold 
Environments, and seeking first 
To know what is worth while, seeking 
To harmonize our plans with God's, 
Let us take up the duties lying 
Nearest us; taking our place 
In the world 's round of business. 
And among its earnest workers. 

We are ambitious, in a sense ! 

AVe would be rich and noble ! Rich 

In faithful struggle for the right, 

In conscious joy of duty done, 

In honor, won by self-denial. 

By love to God and human kind. — 

Noble in that broad sense, that sees 

In the uplifting of the race 

To higher levels, broader views. 

And worthier aims and plans. 

Far more of glory than in all 

The wars with which earth has been curst. 

Thus we indulge, today, our hopes. 
Our aspirations ; thus we build 
Our castles. — Looking back, we see 
Along the way we have together trod, 
Much to remember ; much to give 
Joy in the remembrance. Mingled 
However, with the joy, there comes 
A shade of sadness, at the thought 
Of opportunities neglected^ 
Of words and deeds not flavored 



177 



With the grace of Christian courtesy, 
Of kindly words unsaid, and deeds 
Undone. — These we deplore. Alone 
We would remember kindly thoughts 
And loving words and deeds : only 
Recall sweet memories of the past ! 
Floods of these rush over us to-day. 
Filling our hearts with tenderness, 
Our eyes with tears. — To the Faculty 
We turn with grateful recollections 
Of patient toiling, kindly words, 
Of helpful aid, self-sacrifice. 
And deep devotion to your trust, 
To your high calling. 

Unto you 
Dear schoolmates ! comrades in the work 
Of building character, that shall 
Endure the strain and stress of life, 
The tliought of leaving you, and all 
The fond associations of 
Our Alma Mater, moves our hearts 
Witli deep emotion, as we stand 
Before you now to say adieu! 

This world is full of partings 

And farewells, but in the afterwhile, 

When all life's lessons have been learned. 

There comes the great Commencement! 

Close of this life, commencement 

Of the life to come I Then farewell now ! 

And may we all so live, that when 

Our vessel's keel shall touch the bar 

Upon the other shore, sustained 

By faith and love Divine ; our brows. 

Bared and turned heavenward, may feel 

The air celestial, like the voyager 

From far off climes, who, nearing home. 

Catches the fragrant land breeze in 

His beaming face, with a sweet sense 

Of home and rest and happiness. 

178 



KEEP YOUR GLASSES BRIGHT. 



Lines written on receiving a chamois skin for my spectacles 

on which was printed, "If you would see the world 

aright you must keep your glasses bright. ' ' 

Dear Alice ! 

'Tis a pleasure 
To see the world aright, 
And may we ever do so, 
As we keep our glasses bright. 
And may our inner vision 
Be clarified as much, 
To see the things eternal, by 
The Master's cleansing touch. 

But we often see so dimly. 

And our faith seems, Oh, so small ! 

We often fail to recognize 

His guiding hand at all! 

We sometimes feel to grope our way 

Uncomforted and alone, 

And sigh and say "How dark the day!" 

And our strength is almost gone. 

But when the dear Lord rubs away 
The dust from our spirit's sight, 
And we see His finger pointing 
Up and onward, to the light, 
How brightly the sun shines 'round us. 
How blue are the skies above, 
How faith takes hold with joy untold 
Of the dear Redeemer's love ! 

And so, dear friend ! may we ever, 
Be keeping our glasses bright, 
These for the earthly and outward. 
And those for the inner sight ! — 
Seeing with these, the beauty 
So lavishly spread abroad! 
Seeing with those, the-grandeur 
Of the infinite plans of GOD! 



179 



IN RECOGNITION 



Of the reception of a beautiful rocker, a present from the 

Students at Friends Boarding School, 

Second Month 17th, 1906. 

Tonight your kindliness of thought 
Into our inmost hearts has brought 
Untold emotions, and the rise 
Of happy tears to brimming eyes, 
Dimmed by the mist of sweet surprise. 

We fain would thank you, but the word 
Seems meaningless, our hearts are stirred 
Beyond the depth of common speech, 
Beyond the lingual plummet's reach, — 
Or phrases that the schoolmen teach. 

But as eye answers unto eye 
In that quick human sympathy 
Of soul, wherein another may 
In some occult mysterious way 
Read the mute thanks we cannot say ; 

So you may feel how deeply moved 
We are today, and how beloved 
By us, are you whose kindly care. 
And generous bounty, rich and rare, 
Have furnished us this easy chair. 

And as the seasons come and go, 
And shades of evening 'round us grow 
And lengthen, ere the darkness falls 
Along Life's dim mysterious halls. 
And ere its vesper chiming calls 

To rest; we'll sit, and there recall 
Your forms and faces one and all ; 
Craving that Faith and Hope may mate 
In us, and help us all to wait 
Serenely by Life's outer gate. 

180 



THE SILVER WEDDING DAY. 

Third Month 27th, 1907. 



Five and twenty years together, 
We have lived, dear Wife, today ! 

Clouds and sunshine softly blending. 
All along our life's highway. 

As we see it, looking backward 
Prom our Silver Wedding day! 

And although we sometimes wearied 
Of the days of strain and stress, 

Though we had our cups of Marali, 
Nights of pain and of distress; 

Though hope sometimes almost failed us, 
And our faith seemed growing less. 

Yet the dear Lord's loving kindness 
Followed us from day to day. 

Kept our hearts when strong temptation 
Whispered, "Cast your trust away"! 

Bared His arm of strength to help us 
O'er the trials of the way! 

And today, dear Wife ! as standing 
Out beyond our threescore years, 

With our children gathered 'round us. 
Through the mist of happy tears 

We can dimly see how wisely 

Working out, G od 's plan appears ! 

May thy plans, dear Lord, be ever 
In our minds to dare and do ! 

Keep Thou us, and keep our dear ones. 
Unto Thee, our Father, true; 

Follow with Thy Holy Spirit 

All life's coming journey through. 

181 



And as sinks the sun of evening 
Grandly toward the glowing west, 

May we feel the sweet assurance 
Of a welcome to Thy rest; 

May we feel through boundless mercy 
That our last days are our best. 



A BIRTHDAY RHYME. 



For Edward Stratton on his eighty-sixth birthday, 
Fifth Month 20th, 1908. 

Dear Father, 

In this month of spring, 
Of flowers and beauty, I would bring 
A garland woven into rhyme. 
To celebrate thy birthday time! 
To tell thy years, fourscore and six I 
Away beyond the lines that fix, 
According to the Master's plan 
Of human life, the alloted span — 
Beyond the common bounds of life, 
Beyond the common point, where strife 
And sorrow cease, and rest begins ! 

How fresh before my thoughtful eyes 
Visions of long ago arise ! 
How weeks and months are set aside. 
And backward turns the ebbing tide 
Of years, at Memory's stern command, 
And lifting with her magic hand. 
The shroud that hides the dim and vast 
Assemblage of the buried Past; 
Upon the Present seems to show 
The scenes of forty years ago ! 

182 



Aye, more than forty years the tie 
Of filial love and unity 
Has bound together, and has kept 
Our lives in touch ; and we have wept 
At the same sorrows, and the sun 
Of happiness that often shone, 
Diffused its genial after-glow 
Upon us both, and high or low. 
In unison our lives went on 
Together toward the setting sun. 

And now together down life's hill 
We go, and soon the shades that fill 
The valleys, shall around us creep 
And multiply, and grow more deep, 
Until the night comes on apace; 
God grant us! that His radiant face 
IMay glorify death's gloomy night, 
And lead us upward to the light. 
Beyond the reach of earthly ills, 
And onward to the Heavenly Hills ! 




183 



AT SEVENTY. 

Eighth Month 23rd, 1908. 



A poetic letter to my brother, Nathan H. Edgertou. 

Dear Brother, 

How the winged years 
Flit by us with their smiles and tears, 
And with, mayhap their doubts and fears, 

Till Time, grown bolder, 
Plays pranks with us along the way, 
Touches anon our locks with gray, 
And sometimes forces us to say 

"We're growing older!" 

But looking backward to the days 
When we were boys, the golden haze 
Still seems to linger o 'er our ways 

Of present duty; 
Until we feel like boys again, 
Instead of old gray-headed men, 
And our quick pulses thrill as then 

With life's new beauty. 

Again among our native hills 
We play, and set our toy mills 
A-running in the meadow rills, 

With childish laughter, 
Or hunting eggs among the mows, 
Or brown nuts from the chestnut boughs, 
Or bringing home the truant cows. 

The day's work after. 

184 



And when the shining spring returns, 
And the bright sugar-eamp fire burns, 
Or later, as the plowshare turns 

The dark soil over, 
Or when the harvest's bounty pours 
Its plenty through the great barn doors, 
And heaps about the threshing floors 

The fragrant clover. 

How vividly before our eyes 
These visions of the past arise, — 
Reflections caught from boyhood's skies- 
Seen through our tears ! 
Faces and forms tliat gathered 'round 
The old home fireside, and the sound 
Of voices that the years have drowned. 
Is in our ears. 

Upon life's stage, how wide the range 
Prom pain to pleasure, and how strange 
The quick transition, and the change 

From joy to sorrow. 
And in the shifting of the play, 
We see the boys of yesterday 
As the gray-bearded men to-day. 

And gone tomorrow ! 

And we, Dear Brother ! come to stand, 
A decimated household band, 
Our feet upon the "Border Land" 

Today are prest ! 
Life 's weary race so nearly run ! 
Thy threescore years and ten now done ! 
How surely life's descending sun 

Sinks to the west! 



185 



Oh! grant, Dear Lord! that after all 
Our strenuous life, ere the night fall, 
Our ears may hear the sweet home call 

Sounding from far, 
Like a sweet harp, o'er whieli the wind 
Of God is blowing ! may the Mind 
Eternal, lead us on to find 

Heaven 's gates ajar ! 



NOT KNOWING. 

1908. 



I may not know how deep and wise 

And perfect the design 
Of Providence, that underlies 

This selfish life of mine. 



We cannot grasp His glorious plan, 
With mercy interwrought. 

Transcending all the powers of man 
Is God 's omniscient thought ! 



We may not know why stress and strain 

And sorrow come and go,' 
Nor why sometimes disease and pain 

And doubting overflow, 



Until the clouds seem all too dense 
To witness Hope's arising; 

Beyond the reach of sight or sense 
Seems Faith's serene horizon! 



186 



AVe may not hear through unbelief, 

Tomorrow 's benediction, 
In the storm-centre of our grief, 

Today's severe affliction. 

And yet, not knowing, we would trust. 

Our simple faith confessing, 
That God, o'erruling all, is just, 

And rich in love and blessing! 

And we may know, in following out 
His plan's complete unfolding. 

The secret of His peace, nor doubt 
His own secure upholding. 

Increase our faith, dear Lord, in Thee ! 

Dispel all doubt and fearing! 
Open our spiritual eyes to see. 

Quicken our sense of hearing ! 

That we may note Thy "Still small voice' 

In life's unwritten story. 
And see beyond the clouds of doubt, 

The gleam of heavenly glory ! 

May know the spirit's harmony 
Within our hearts upwelling, 

And the sweet comfort, day by day. 
Of Thy divine indwelling! 



187 



DRIFTING. 

1908. 



Oh, to see our loved ones drifting, 
Drifting from us day by day ! 

Powerless to arrest the ebb-tide. 
Setting outward and away! 



Oh, to know that those whose living 

Merges so into our own. 
Dread disease, relentless, cureless, 

Marks and stalks them as his own ! 



Oh, to see the mute appealing 
Of the eyes that look in ours ! 

Pregnant with the heart's deep feeling, 
In the lapse of Nature 's powers ! 



Oh, to feel the dear hands clinging 
To us in the strain and stress! 

How our hearts are crushed and humbled, 
In our very helplessness ! 



Oh, our Father! in our weakness. 

Let us closer press to Thee ! 
Oh, fulfill Thy blessed promise, 

"As thy days, thy strength shall be!' 



Give us wisdom, give us patience, 
Give us strength from day to day ! 

Faith to keep, and love to guide us, 
Safely on life 's weary way ! 

And as drifting, drifting outward, 
Toward where life and death divide, 

Grant, dear Lord ! Thy holy presence ! 
Help us to be satisfied ! 

Thankful that 'mid clouds and darkness, 
Through Thy own abounding grace. 

We may sometimes catch an earnest 
Of the glory of Thy face ! 

Take our drifting dear ones, Father! 

Into Thy especial care ! 
Be to them their all-sufficience. 

Is the burden of our prayer ! 

Comfort with Thy benediction ! 

With Thy arm of power sustain ! 
Supplement, as Thou canst only, 

Failing strength, bewildered brain! 

And when past the tribulations. 

Past the sorrows of the way, 
When the clouds and gloom roll backward, 

From the dawning of the day, 

May our loved ones who are drifting, 
Drifting from us toward the west, 

Safely glide into the liarbor 
Of eternal peace and rest! 

189 



AT REST. 

1908. 



Dear patient hands ! that for so long 

In the world's work have wrought, 
So truly and so faithfully 

Fulfilling every thought 
Of love and duty ! now to-night 

Lie meekly on her breast ! 
Weary of toil, and thin and white, 

They find eternal rest ! 



Dear willing feet ! that faltered not, 

Life 's rugged paths to tread ! 
Devoted feet ! that ever ran 

The way where duty led ! 
Poor tired feet ! no more you go 

The ways so often prest ! 
Your steps grown feeble, short, and slow, 

Tonight has brought you rest ! 



Dear kindly eyes ! so full of love. 

And love's sweet care for me, 
Turning so fondly to her friends. 

With hearty sympathy ! 
Beautiful eyes ! that looked in mine. 

With a strange, longing light. 
As sickness wore her strength away, 

Are closed for aye, tonight ! 

190 



Dear careful lips ! so prompt to own 

The good by others done, 
So slow to recognize her own, 

Or tell her victories won ! 
Sweet lips! to mine so often prest, 

Fragrant with love's pure breath, 
And with her simple earnest prayers, 

Tonight are hushed in death! 



Dear heart ! that loved so long and well, 

So guileless and so true ! 
That clung to us so tenderly. 

Life's weary journey through! 
Loyal to us and to her God ! 

Its feverish pulsing o'er, 
The heart so steadfast and so brave. 

Is stilled fore verm ore ! 



Sweet soul ! grown weary of the weight 

And burden of the years I 
Grown weary of life's suffering, 

Its sorrow and its tears! — 
I thank thee, Lord! for the sweet time 

That she hath dwelt with me. 
To-night Thou callest home again 

Her pure white soul to Thee! 



191 



HER PRAYER. 

1908. 



* ' Dear F'ather ! watch thou o 'er me, 

I cannot go alone ! 
The way is dark before me, 

The night is coming on." 



So prayed the patient sufferer 

Upon her bed of pain. 
Till the evening shades grew vibrant 

With the spirit's sweet refrain. 



No studied phrase adorned it, 
Her simple heart-felt prayer, 

But the soul's yearning warmed it 
With life and beauty rare. 



And as its accents trembled 
Within her quiet room, 

The very air seemed fragrant 
With heavenly perfume. 



And the sky above seemed clearer. 
The earth beneath more fair. 

And Heaven itself seemed nearer 
For the treble of her prayer ! 

192 



AFTERTHOUGHT. 

1908. 



Although I feel how desolate 

My life henceforth must be, 
Yet as tonight, I sit and wait. 

Thinking of Heaven and thee, 
I would not call thee back to life. 

With all its toil and pain, 
From that sweet home above, dear wife ! 

Which I too, hope to gain. 

I would not want to change God's plans ! 

My time, or brief or long. 
Is in the blessed Master's hands, 

And He can do no wrong! 
I would not sorrow over-much, 

But wheresoe'er may be 
My way, Oh may I walk in touch 

Dear wife ! with Christ and thee ! 

And may my life conform below, 

To God's all- wise design ! 
Seeking His blessed will to know. 

And knowing, make it mine. 
But well I know the flesh is weak, 

My only sure defense. 
Is through the coming years to seek 

Help from Omnipotence ! 

But as I fondly think of Thee, 

From weakness disenthralled! 
From life 's infirmities set free ! 

To higher service called ! 
I can but long for that bright land, 

Where God shall dry our tears, 
And cause to dwell af His right hand 

Through the eternal years ! 

193 



THE HOUSTONIAS. 

1909. 



I have transplanted you, sweet flowers ! 

Modest and blossoming, 
Upon the grave of one who loved 

The coming of the Spring ! 

Like you, a sweet simplicity 
Adorned her life of beauty ! 

Content in humble guise to walk 
The quiet ways of duty ! 

Content to occupy the sphere, 
Where Providence had placed her, 

Using the talents and the gifts 

Wherewith the Lord had graced her ! 

The gospel of unselfishness 
Her daily life was preaching, 

A simple faith and childlike trust 
Were lessons of her teaching. 

A mother to the motherless! 

Her noble nature giving 
The sweet aroma of a life 

Of pure and saintly living. 



But that sweet life has passed away 

I can but bow in sorrow 
Above her grave, and ask for strength 

To meet each coming morrow. 

194 



Strength to enable me to live 
More worthy of the sweetness 

Of her who brought, to home and life, 
Such womanly completeness! 

Help me, dear Christ ! more faithfully, 

Her bright example heeding, 
To follow on from day to day. 

Her gentle spirit's leading: 

That I may in the time to come. 

Fulfill my humble calling. 
And hear the Master's sweet "Well done" 

When sunset shades are falling. 

And may we meet, when life is o 'er, 

Within the jasper portal. 
The loved ones who have gone before 

Into the life immortal ! 



LITTLE MOTHER. 

1909. 



Darling little mother, 

In her easy chair! 
Face aglow with kindness! 

Crowned with silver hair ! 
Oh ! what charming pictures 

Memory paints today! 
Of the gentle mother, 

Ere she went away ! 

195 



Many a mid-life picture, 

"With the long bright days 
Full of summer's sweetness, 

And its golden haze; 
With the children gathered 

Round about her knees. 
Learning useful lessons 

Of life's ministries. 

Sowing in the spring-time, 

For the autumn's yield. 
Watching for the first fruits 

Of the harvest field! 
Doors ajar for comers, 

'Mid her many cares 
Sometimes entertaining 

Angels unawares ! 

And when ev'ning shadows 

Fell across her way, 
As her strength diminished 

With the fading day, 
Beautiful the evening 

Lights and shadows blend, 
Like her blessed Master, 

Loving "to the end." 

And as from life's threshold 

Little mother passed ! 
As the weary burdens 

Fell from her at last. 
Heaven's doors swung open 

At the set of sun. 
And her ears were greeted 

With her Lord's "Well done, 

196 



ANNIVERSARY NIGHT. 

Eighth Month, 28th, 1909. 



Tonight my busy memory 

Holds up in strong contrast, 
The droning of the Present, 

With the treble of the Past ; 
Tonight the floodgates open 

To the torrents of my grief. 
And only in a storm of tears 

My spirit finds relief, 
In the sweet and calm assurance 

That the soul that passed away 
At the coming of the night-fall 

One year ago today, 
Has all these months been dwelling 

In that bright world of bliss, 
Unvexed by any weakness 

Or weariness, of this. 



Yet even this assurance 

Can scarcely put to flight 
The loneliness and longing, 

That fill my soul tonight; 
As, sitting in the stillness 

Of her room, I see again 
The group around her bedside, 

And hear her breath of pain. 
Oh, the hush that fell upon us ! 

In that solemn moment, when 
The world of spirits seemed so near 

Unto the world of men; 
When the sweet eyes forever 

Closed to the scenes of earth, 
And in Death's silent coming, 

Eternal life had birth ! 



197 



I feel how deeply lonely 

Has been my chastened life, 
Since that sad hour at gloaming 

When God called home my wife! 
But as I bow submissive 

Unto His holy Will, 
There comes into my spirit 

A whisper, "Peace be still." 
And I would own how kindly 

The Father's hand has led 
My halting footsteps onward. 

And how His love was shed 
Abroad! I fain would thank Him 

For mercies, and the power 
That all my life hath led me, 

Unto this very hour ! 



And I would make, this evening, 

My Darling's prayer my own, 
"Dear Father, watch Thou o'er me! 

I cannot go alone!" — 
So oft' my courage fails me, 

And faith grows weak and small. 
Help me, dear Lord ! to follow 

Thy guiding hand through all ! 
Help me to bear more bravely 

The loneliness, the tears. 
To struggle calmly onward. 

And meet the coming years. 
And Oh ! when time shall bring me 

To where the years shall cease, 
May my ears catch the anthem 

Of God's eternal peace! 
And in the full fruition 

Of hope and faith, may know 
A sweet and glad reunion 

With those I loved below ! 



198 



CENTENARY. 



Written on the one hundredth anniversary of the birth of 
Mary J. Koll, First Month 10th, 1910. 

We ask not that the sun stand still 

Today on Gibeon, 
Nor that the moon her orbit fill 

To-night in Ajalon ! 



No miracle of poAver we ask, 
But make the earnest plea, 

For grace to meet each daily task 
Bravely and cheerfully, 



As she whose birth we celebrate, 
Whose years of toil and strife 

Should cheer us on to emulate 
The beauty of her life. 



We would not have the tide of years, 

For us to-day be stayed, 
The record of its hopes and fears, 

Forevermore is made 



For her who calmly, sweetly meets 

The trials of her way. 
Whose lengthened, useful life completes 

One hundred years today! 

199 



One hundred years ! How very few 

See their centennial day ! 
While many die, ere yet the dew 

Of youth has passed away ! 

But she whose years we joy to tell, 
Has rounded out fivescore ! 

Whose fellow trav'lers fainting fell, 
Life's highway passing o'er, 

Until alone she stands today. 

In her simplicity ! 
Her generation passed away ! 

"The last leaf on the tree." 

And we would crave, what yet is meet 

Of life for her may be 
Spent at the blessed Master's feet, 

From sin and sorrow free : 

Knowing the Christian's hiding place. 
Here, where the years increase ! 

Looking for Christ's abiding place. 
When the swift years shall cease. 

And we to-day, would gladly own 

God's overruling power. 
In many a time of trial shown. 

Unto this very hour! 

And may we now and ever own 

His good and wise design. 
And our life's constant undertone 

Still blend with the Divine. 



200 




BAPTIZED WITH FIRK 



the Bosirding Sohc 
Third Month, 31* 



Bar 

L910. 



BAPTIZED WITH FIRE. 

Fourth Month, 1910. 



0, bleak bare walls ! how desolate 

And sad your gloomy silhouette, 

Clear-cut, against the blue spring sky, 

Is thrown upon the beautiful 

And quiet background of the hills! 

The smiling hills, that erstwhile stood 

Guard around thee, and the cheerful 

Happy throngs that came and went, 

Year after year, a joyous tide 

Of pulsing life a-through thy halls ! 

Oh Olney ! spot so dear to all 
Who shared thy blessings! how today 
My heart is filled with sadness. 
And my eyes with tears ! hot tears 
Of grief, as I recall the many 
Fond associations of the past 
Through my brain thronging! 

Now baptized 
With fire our Alma Mater stands ! 
But as I gaze upon these walls. 
Blackened and bare, and swept with flame, 
I seem to see an earnest of 
Its resurrection. Loving hands 
Out-reach to clothe again these walls 
With the habiliments of life, 
Of loving service, lofty aims. 
And golden opportunities! 

201 



From east and west, the messages 
Of loving sympathy, of faith, 
Of succor in the hour of need, 
Come as an inspiration ; and 
From rich and poor alike, the help 
Is freely given! Strong manhood, 
Loving womanhood, age, trembling 
Upon life's frontiers, and childhood, 
Rich in hope and promise, all alike 
Are pressing through the open door 
Of Opportunity, to build 
About these walls, a richer fane, 
A Phoenix risen from the ashes 
Of the Past ! 

May we all arise 
To meet this opportunity. 
Coming but once, and briefly, 
To a generation! May we choose 
Wisely and well, nor sacrifice 
Unto the brief and fleeting Present, 
Those tremendous issues of the long 
On-coming Future, radiant 
And big with possibilities! 

The chance has come to us, to step 

Into the breach, and by a grand 

Self-sacrifice repay the debt 

Of gratitude we owe unto 

Our Alma Mater ! If we thus 

May measure up unto the call 

The Future makes upon the Present, 

In the years to come, our children 

Will not blush because we failed 

To do our duty in the time 

Of need that tried the souls of men. 



202 



LOVE'S MIRACLE. 

1910. 



Two lonely lives were drifting 

Adown the tide of years, 
Each with its heritage of pain, 

Each with its hopes and fears; 
Each with its own misgivings, 

And transient smiles and tears, 
Each bearing, as alone it could 

The burden of the years. 

But drifting on, as nearer. 

These lonely lives were drawn, 
New interests seemed to 'waken. 

New hopes began to dawn. 
And there was less of sadness 

Upon each heart and face, 
And Faith, and Joy and Gladness 

Were blooming in its place. 

Oh! Love, thou great transformer! 

What wond'rous power is thine, 
To change Life's common water 

Into the rarest wine ! 
To change the gloom of twilight 

Into the light of day. 
The snows and cold of winter 

Into the flowers of May! 

And if this human passion 

Can so transform our lives. 
If from the Eden exodus 

This touch Divine survives. 
May not our human loving, 

In GOD 'S o 'erruling be 
The blending of our dual lives 

In one, dear Christ, in Thee? 

203 



INDIAN SUMMER DAYS. 

1910. 



The autumn days are brief and chill, 

The autumn skies are gray ; 
The glory of the summer time 

Has faded quite away. 

But out upon the breezy hill, 

The quiet forest ways, 
Are carpeted with red and gold. 

Unknown to summer days. 

The asters in their regal blue, 

The dusty roadside cheering. 
Their gay plumes nodding in the wind. 

To leeward gently veering, 

The brown nuts dropping from the boughs, 
Lie 'midst the leaves down-falling, 

The solemn voices of the wind 
Are sweetly, gently, calling. 

Nature has clothed the field and wood 
With beauty and with sweetness. 

And autumn seems to crown the year 
With all the year's completeness. 

And still we look for days of shine, 

Of shimmer, and of gladness. 
Before the snows of winter come, 

The short, dark, days of sadness. 

We look for those bright dreamy days, 
Filled full of love's sweet story, 

The overbrooding purple haze 
Of "Indian Summer's" glory. 

204 



And I, dear friend ! have thought how bright 

Life's Indian Summer beauty- 
May glint along its dowuAvard slopes, 

And light our paths of duty. 

And glorify the common things, 

In the brief days before us, 
And brighten with a touch Divine 

The clouds that may drift o'er us. 



UNDER THE STARS. 

1910. 



What glorious sights, 

These winter nights. 
My western windows see ! 

As to my eye 

The starlit sky 
'erarehes wond 'rously ! 

Immensity 

I seem to see ! 
Beyond the Milky Way 

The heaven's archways 

Are all ablaze 
With stars and nebulae ! 

Our keen eyes sweep 

The upper deep. 
But far beyond our sight. 

Are God's fcontiers, 

Whence, through the years, 
Flash in these rays of light. 

205 



Let me expect, 
When stars reflect, 

The glory of Thy face, 
To know, dear Lord, 
Thy still small word, 

In this our trysting place 1 

And oh, dear Christ, 

In this sweet tryst. 
My guardian spirit be I 

Help me to hold. 

Or new or old, 
My covenants with Thee ! 



LIFE'S DESERT PLACES. 

1910. 



'Come ye yourselves apart into a desert place and rest 
awhile, ' ' 

—Mark VI., 31. 

' ' Come ye apart and rest awhile, ' ' 
So spake the Lord unto His own 
Who followed Him from day to day. 
Amidst the throng of those who came 
And went, till they had weary grown, 
And needed quiet rest. So oft 
The cares of life press heavily. 
And the long way seems very dark. — 
This the dear Lord knew, and led them 
Out into the desert's silence, 
Where alone with Him they might, 
Within the quiet solitude. 
Be comforted and strengthened 
For the mighty work before them. 

206 



And thus God often leads His own, 
Even now as then. The desert 
May seem wild, and lone, and vast, 
The very type of desolation ! 
But from its very loneliness. 
Its silence, and its vastness, through 
Divine Omnipotence, comes all 
The needed strength, the courage. 
The endurance, to complete 
The service which He calls for. 
And for which He thus prepares 
His children. 

From preparation 
Such as this, God called His servant, 
Moses, from the desert's rim 
Nigh unto Horeb, for the work 
To which he was appointed. 
There in the desert, God had taught 
To him the needed lessons 
For the leadership of all 
The mighty people, whom, by grace 
And help Divine, he was to bring 
From abject slavery, and all 
The degradation that exists 
Therein, into the freedom 
Of the promised land. 

Such too, 
The training that the poet-king 
Of Israel underwent, when 
God would choose a man to reign 
Over His people ; the youngest 
Among his father's sons, and 
Shepherd of his flocks, whose soul. 
By silent intercourse with God 
Through all the long bright days 
Spent with the patient flocks among 
The hills and fields of Bethlehem, 
Had kept so close in touch 
With the Divine, that when the time 

207 



Of Saul's rejection came, the boy- 
Was furnished for the mighty task 
To which God called him. 

God is, 
In all His ways consistent. 
Ere He called the son of Amram, 
To lead unto the exodus 
The Hebrew hosts, Omniscience 
Saw the legislator in 
The shepherd of the desert. 
Ere the prophet poured the oil 
Upon the head of Jesse's son 
Infinite Wisdom saw the 
"Perfect heart," the glory of 
The reign of David. 

And to-day. 
When God calls into service 
Whom He will, His own right arm 
Will still uphold His instrument. 
And as we walk with Him in faith. 
Depending on His power 
And guidance. He will lead us 
Through all the trials of our way. 
And as our eyes are fixed on Him, 
And with our ears attentive 
To His "still small voice," we, 
In the end, will find it true 
That ' ' Unto him who hath no might 
He still increaseth strength." 

And, 

From these resting places in 

The deserts, whether of sorrow. 

Or temptation, or disease. 

If we but cling to Him in faith, 

And press more closely to His side. 

We may emerge into the world 

Of active service, with a braver 

Heart to follow on, within 

The path the Master's feet have trod. 



LOVE. (A Letter.) 

1910. 



As I say farewell, my darling, 

As I turn from thee today 
To home and other duties, 

I can but hope and pray 
That God may keep and bless thee, 

And shield from every harm, 
And lead thee safely forward, 

By His Almighty arm. 

His presence has been with us. 

In many a lonely hour. 
His love has touched our human love 

With its ecstatic power; 
He has reached our founts of feeling, 

And the charming interflow 
Of deep and strong affection 

Has warmed our life below. 

With an earnest of the sweetness 

Of His never failing love. 
Which in its full completeness 

Forever reigns above ! 
Keep us. Oh ! loving Father, 

So close in touch with thee. 
That in the glorious afterwhile. 

From sin and sorrow free. 

We may dwell with Thee forever, 

In Thy happy home above! 
Where nought may separate us 

From the rapture of Thy love ! 
Above, beyond the human love. 

And sanctified by grace, 
Where through the years eternal 

We may behold Thy face ! 



209 



AT SIXTY-SIX. 

Seventh Month 12th, 1911. 



Threescore and six ! how swift have past 
The winged years ! How brief the whole 
Of human life ! how long, how vast. 
Eternity! Be wise, my soul. 
Redeem the time; and holding fast 
The hand of G od, press onward to thy goal ! 



What is thy goal? Oh, may it be 
Nothing beneath the stars of light ! 
But outward, upward, to the free 
Expanse of Heaven, sweet and bright 
With God's smile, and the charity 
Of His great love ; to walk with Him in white. 



Help thou me onward then, dear Lord ! 
Feeble my will, nor have I power. 
Without the quick 'ning of Thy Word, 
To keep me for a single hour 
In the wild whirl of life, unheard 
Of Thee, unsheltered by Thy love and power. 



Oh, may I then, in the few years 
Still left me, walk more near to Thee 
Dear Christ, than heretofore ! If tears 
And sorrow are dispensed to me. 
Help me to bear them, still my fears. 
And lead me through the toils of life to Thee ! 

210 



Thou hast bestowed so much of good, 
The sweet home ties, blessings of love 
And peace, of health and daily food ! — 
All these should lead my thoughts above, 
To Thee, in filial gratitude, 
Prompting my loyalty to Thee to prove. 

Help me more faithfully, Oh Lord, 
To do the things Thy will appoints. 
And as Thy ' ' Still small Voice ' ' is heard, 
And as Thy spirit still anoints, 
May I be prompt to speak Thy word. 
And my feet hasten where Thy finger points. 



THE THRESHOLD OF THE YEAR.' 

New Year's Eve, 1911. 



Upon the threshold of the year. 
Tonight my feet are stayed, 

Behind, the unreturning past ! 

Before, the future, dim and vast! 

But on God's care the load I cast, 
I need not be afraid ! 

His love through all the years has led, 

Shall I not trust Him still? 
And through whatever may betide, 
If I keep closely at His side, 
I'll trust His loving care to guide, 
His promise to fulfill. 

211 



I ask not idleness, dear Lord, 

I fain would work for Thee ! 
If Thou wilt all my being fill 
With a deep reverence for Thy will, 
And strengthen for Thy service still, 

Thy servant I would be. 

If the Eternal God may be 

My refuge, day by day. 
And if His everlasting arm 
Be underneath, no wild alarm 
Should shake my trust, or bring me harm, 

In my appointed way. 

Beyond the threshold of the year, 

I know not what awaits, 
But I would come, dear Lord, to Thee, 
Trusting Thy love's sweet ministry 
To lead, and guide, and be with me, 

Unto life's outer gates. 



THE BLIZZARD. 

1912. 



A blizzard, aye sure a blizzard ! 

On the heels of the sleet and rain, 
With scourge of snow, on the winds ablow, 
And frost on the window pane ; 
And a chill like death 
On the blust'ring breath 
Of the wintry hurricane ! 

212 



The day's wild hours of tumult, 

With their wrack, and rush, and blow, 
Faded without the cheerful light 
Or warmth of the sunset glow ; 
As it were, blown out 
In riot and rout 
By the stifling swirl of snow. 

Within, by our village fireside, 
We gather, the hearth about. 
And list to the storm wind's chorus, 
Like a solemn dirge without; 
Like a cry of pain 
Was the wild refrain 
Of the blizzard's wail without. 



Fierce spirit of the tempest, hush 

Thy loud and reckless crying. 
Tone down thy boisterous jubilee 
To notes of gentle sighing ! 
And pass by the door 
Of the suffering poor. 
Thy cruelty decrying. 



There was erst, enough of sorrow 

For the lowly to confess. 
Enough of hunger and of cold, 
Enough of strain and stress ; 
But the storm's rude height, 
And its chill tonight, 
Are adding to their distress. 

God pity the poor forlorn ones! 

His destitute ones today. 
Help us to feel our brotherhood 
With the poor on Life 's highway 
Keep us close to the drift, 
With a strong uplift 
For the fainting ones today. 

213 



TO JANE EDGERTON 

Tenth Month 19th, 1912. 



On her eighty-ninth birthday. 

Dear Cousin, 

On this day of days, 

I fain would bring to thee 
An added joy, a note of praise, 

A glimpse of life to be 
In full fruition of our hopes, 

Beyond life 's tossing sea ! 

Thy fourscore years and nine, indeed 
Have touched thy locks with gray, 

But in thy heart's deep shrine, no need 
Cries out for sunnier day; 

Life at its best still wears for thee 
A cheerful face today ! 

'Tis true the joys of the Springtime 

Developed long ago 
Into the Summer 's fruitful prime ; 

Now Autumn's breezes blow! 
But still we find on heart and mind 

Life's Indian Summer glow. 

And we today, our thanks would say, 
For the blessings God hath given. 

For the times of doubt that found us out, 
For fields where we have striven, 

For strength thus won, to bear us on 
Through mercy, nearer Heaven ! 

For Thy power to save, we thank Thee 
Dear Lord, through all the strife. 

The endless toil and endeavor. 
And weariness of life. 

And to keep our tryst with Thee, dear Christ, 
In the eventide of life ! 

214 



THE WESTWARD TRAIL. 



When the westward trail of "Forty-nine" 
Was luring away to camp and mine, 
With visions of hasty fame and wealth, 
Of western homes, and rugged health ; 
'Twas a long wild way, the "Overland", 
Of plains, and mountains, and barren sand, 
With long miles stretching from east to west, 
Onward and up to the Rockies' crest, 
And thence away on the sunset side 
Of the wondrous summit, the "Great Divide 

Long toil ahead, when the march began, 

For the "Prairie Schooner" caravan! 

Long weary toil for horse and man. 

The laboring flight of the moving van ! 

With the faithful wives and the little ones, 

A ready target for Indian guns ! 

An intruder to the wild coyote, 

To the grizzly, and the mountain goat; 

A flaunt to the fiercest winds that blow, 

A fright to the nomad buffalo; 

And this prolonged through weary weeks, 

Ere he gains the goal his fancy seeks. 

At night in tent, or in bivouac, 

The migrants sleep on the westward track, 

With pickets to guard against attack 

Of hostile Indians, or bandit force, 

Haunting the western emigrant course. 

But now, how changed from the days of yore. 
The "Prairie Schooner "~ is seen no more. 
And westward bound, as we go today, 

215 



By the great *'U. P." or the Santa Fe, 
A double header, the "Limited", 
With its ' ' Mountain engines ' ' groomed and fed 
For a hundred miles or more of run 
Without a stop, toward the setting sun, 
"Dragging" a dozen Pullmans, or more. 
Is off for the far Pacific's shore. 

Wonderful triumph of art and skill ! 
Bounding ahead at the driver's will, 
Cleaving the air like a sharp-edged knife. 
Chasing along like a thing of life. 
With roar and rumble, and stress and strain. 
Dashing westward, the limited train ! 
Over broad rivers, by bridges crost 
We thunder, — the rush of a mailed host ! 
Past cottage homes, through a constant change 
Of scenes, and out on the boundless range, 
Where the cattle graze, and the herds of sheep 
Are folded in the corral to sleep. 

But sleep comes not to the faithful crew 

That run the train, but the whole night through, 

At their posts of duty, wide awake. 

And alert to every risk they take ; 

Speeding along through the darkness deep, 

The eyes of the engineer a-sweep 

Over the rails, where vividly bright, 

Is thrown the glare of the great headlight, 

As, hand on throttle, he guides the train. 

Working together, the hand and brain ! 

All this, that we, in our berths asleep. 

May safely rest through the darkness deep, 

Preserved from the dangers of the way. 

And rise refreshed for another day. 

216 



Thus day and night we are sweeping on, 

From dawn to dusk, and from dusk to dawn. 

Over the plains so long and so wide, 

Or skirting the rugged mountain side. 

Over the canyon's yawning abyss, 

Close to the edge of the precipice, 

Through the tunnels, — above the clouds 

That float below, like solemn shrouds, — 

Thence sweeping down through the great snow 

sheds, 
Close to the peaks, whose snow-crowned heads 
Stand clearly outlined against the blue 
Of the western sky, while pictures new 
And beautiful, come before our eyes. 
In ever-changing, and glad surprise. 

And soon our journey ends, the way 
Across the continent, which they 
Erstwhile required months to cover, 
With untold hardships dotted over. 
We now can make in luxury. 
In four short days from sea to sea ! 

We praise the ability to plan 

And execute, the skill of man 

To overbridge all space, and turn 

To peaceful use the powers that burn 

And glow within him, and construe 

The laws of Nature, to the true 

And lasting good of all mankind. 

Outworking through the courage given, 
The plans and purposes of Heaven, 

Harmonious with the Eternal Mind. 



217 



MOUNT PLEASANT. 



Mount Pleasant! 'round thy classic hill 

What fragrant memories cluster! 
What varied thoughts our bosoms fill 

As on this spot we muster 
Our Friendly clans; our hearts in touch 

With Nature's warm caressing 
This summer day, hoping for much 

Of uplift, and of blessing. 

A day of Friendship's genial glow, 

Filled up with happy meetings 
Of the dear friends of long ago. 

With warm and cordial greetings 
Of newer friends, and kindred hearts, 

Whose interest brings them here. 
From near-by homes, from distant parts. 

In this centennial year. 

A hundred years! what changes sweep 

Our human pathways over. 
As tempests scourge the tossing deep, 

Defying man's endeavor; — 
So though the storms of Twenty-eight, 

And Fifty-four swept o'er us. 
Though sometimes grieving at our fate, 

Yet Heaven still lies before us. 



Around us are its beacon lights 

And watch-fires brightly burning, 
With these in view, may we be true. 

From danger promptly turning, 
Obedient to the Light within. 

Its gentle guidance heeding. 
Avoiding deed or thought of sin. 

To follow in its leading. — 

218 



Mount Pleasant ! many a valiant soul 

Whose varied lines of service 
Have blest the Church, and made tlie goal 

Of life more plain before us, 
Learned helpful lessons in thy School 

For life's broad duties later. 
Squaring them by the Golden Rule, 

And our own Alma Mater, 



Mount Pleasant ! Olney ! may your sons 

And daughters, holding duly 
Our Quaker faith, so he who runs 

May read its message truly, 
Its pristine zeal, humility, 

And Christliness upwelling, 
And overspreading all may be 

The proof of His indwelling. 

Thus may the new School and the old. 

Be classed on history's pages 
Among the forces that have told 

For Christ, adown the ages; 
For higher aims, for cleaner lives, 

For greater faith to nerve us 
By closer walk with God, to give 

More consecrated service. 



And may we daily emulate 

His infinite forgiving, 
Until our own lives illustrate 

A better, holier living. 
The glory of unselfishness, 

The lure of Heaven above. 
May these combine in all to bless 

The Apostolate of Love ! 

The above lines were written for the occasion of a Cen- 
tennial meeting at Mount Pleasant, Ohio, held Sixth Month 
20th. 1913. 



219 



CONTENTS 

PAGE 

Prefatory 3 

Introductory 4 

Foreword 9 

A Brook By The Way 10 

Nature's Music 11 

Death of DeSoto 12 

Our Father's Death 16 

The Baby's Grave 20 

Near The Dead 22 

"All Is Peace" 23 

Recognition In Heaven 25 

Giving Back 27 

In Resignation 28 

The Fourth Anniversary 30 

Ambrose Boone 31 

Christ's Kingdom 32 

An Intercession 34 

Nuptial Greeting 36 

Old Letters 37 

Four Pair of Shoes 39 

Words of Welcome 40 

An Aspiration 41 

The Decade 41 

Gone Home 42 

Our Dual Lives 44 

"The City of the Living" 45 

Consolation 46 

Hereafter 48 

The Smoker's Dream 49 

Early Crowned 51 

The Fire 53 

The Old Year 54 

The Shadow 56 

A Harvest Hymn 58 

In Memoriam 60 

My Angel Wife 62 

My Birthday 83 

New Year's Eve Musings 65 

The Grave in the West 66 

My Childhood's Home 67 

The Vision 69 



PAGE 

The Land of Dreams 70 

Thanksgiving 72 

Heart Guests 73 

Old Year Memories 76 

"What Inspires" 77 

The Death of the Year 79 

Moonlight Musings 80 

Message to the Dead 82 

The Surprise 83 

Valedictory Address, — To My Pupils 85 

The Angel of Springtime 87 

The Pugnacious Lover 89 

The Snowfall 92 

The Nation's Suspense 94 

The Poor Poet's Dream 96 

Bells of the New Year 99 

My Dream 100 

Pensive Musings 101 

The Retrospect 102 

An Acrostic 104 

The Robin's "Snow-Bound" 105 

Consecration 106 

"Under The Shadow of Thy Wings" 107 

The Maniac Prisoner 109 

Night Ill 

Prospect Mount 112 

The Meeting 114 

The Old Meeting House 115 

The "Star of the Cheyennes" 116 

The Ministry of Suffering 117 

Our Refuge 120 

The Dead MiUionaire 121 

Home Memories 123 

The Snow Storm 126 

The Neglected Flower 131 

Silent Worship 133 

Equality 134 

Nearing the Shore 136 

Reunion *: 137 

Only a Tramp 140 

Make Me Pure Within 142 

Ice-Bound 143 



PAGE 

The Railroad Wreck 147 

Vocal Winds 149 

Quakerism 151 

Disarmament 153 

"How Beautiful To Be With God" 155 

In Storm and Calm 156 

A Wedding Letter 157 

Valedictory,— Class of 95 159 

Valedictory,— Class of 99 161 

The Best of Friends 163 

The Temptation 165 

The Log-Book 167 

"Monthly Meeting" 168 

The Hero of Fredericksburgh 170 

Autumn Days 174 

Valedictory,— Class of 05 176 

Keep Your Glasses Bright 179 

In Recognition 180 

The Silver Wedding Day 181 

A Birthday Rhyme 182 

At Seventy 184 

Not Knowing 186 

Drifting 188 

At Rest 190 

Her Prayer 192 

Afterthought 193 

The Houstonias 194 

Little Mother 195 

Anniversary Night 197 

Centenary 199 

Baptized With Fire 201 

Love's Miracle 203 

Indian Summer Days 204 

Under the Stars 205 

Life's Desert Places 206 

Love,— (A Letter) 209 

At Sixty-six 210 

"The Threshold of the Year" 211 

The Blizzard 212 

To Jane Edgerton 214 

The Westward Trail 215 

Mount Pleasant '. 218 



JUL -6 1914 



